LIBRARY 

1      UNIVERSITY   OF 
V/CAUFOftNtA 


/BE  R  K  E I E  Y\ 

LIBRARY 

I       UNIVERSITY  OF 
V       CALIFORNIA       J 


* 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853, 

BY  PATRICK  DONAHOE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Electrotypcd  at  the  Boston  Stereotype  Foundry, 
No.  19  Spring  Lane. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
NANCY  KELLY  OP  THE  "GAP"  AND  HER  ACQUAINTANCES.    .         5 

CHAPTER    II. 

WHICH   MIGHT   HAVE   BEEN   THE    FlRST ;    OR,    A   PEEP   BEHIND 

THE  CURTAIN 19 

CHAPTER    III. 
THE  INFORMER 28 

CHAPTER    IV. 

IN  WHICH  IT  IS  MADE  TO  APPEAR  THAT  SAINTS  AND  SlNNERS 
MAY  BE  UNITED  TOGETHER  IN  A  COMMON  BROTHERHOOD 

BY  THE  AID  OP  RELIGION. 45 

CHAPTER    V. 

AN  IRISH  FAIR,  WITH  ITS  PECULIARITIES  ;  WHICH,  BEING  NA 
TIONAL,  FOR  THE  MOST  PART,  ARE  VERY  UN -ENGLISH, 
AND  OF  COURSE  VERY  ABSURD 65 

CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  SAME  CONTINUED.  ANOTHER  LETTER  OF  SOME  IMPOR 
TANCE 80 

CHAPTER    VII. 
BEING  A  CHAPTER  OF  REFLECTIONS 80 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
THE  IRISHWOMAN  AS  SHE  OUGHT  TO  BE 103 

CHAPTER    IX. 

CONTAINING  AN  IRISH  RECEIPT  FOR  COOLING  THE  BLOOD.  .      119 

CHAPTER    X. 
THE  ORANGE  LODGE 134 

CHAPTER    XI. 
THE  SICK-CALL 145 

3 


052 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  DEVOUT  READING  OF  THE  BIBLE  CON 
TROLS  AND  CALMS  THE  PASSIONS 165 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
A  Pious   LANDLORD    DIRECTING  HIS  AGENT   HOW   HE   MAY 

BEST   ADVANCE    THE     SPIRITUAL    AND    TEMPORAL     INTER 
ESTS  OF  HIS    TENANTS 184 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
BEING  THE  SHORTEST  CHAPTER  IN  THE  BOOK 205 

CHAPTER    XV. 
THE  CROSS  AND  BEADS.     KATHLEEN  KENNEDY 209 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

CONTAINING  SOME  SECRETS  THAT  MAY  PROVE  VERY  INTER 
ESTING  TO  "  RELIGIOUS  TEA-PARTIES,"  DEN'S  THEOLO 
GY  LECTURERS,  OLD  MAIDENS,  AND  NURSERY-GIRLS.  .  .  231 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

ELLEN  O'DONNELL  AND  SHANDY  M'GuiRE  APPEAR  AS  TWO 
VERY  DIFFERENT  CHARACTERS  IN  THE  DRAMA  OF  IRISH 
LIFE 240 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS 258 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
A    NIGHT    IN    THE    MOUNTAINS.     DUMPY    DOWSER'S    LAST 

DANCE 278 

CHAPTER    XX. 

WHICH  CONTAINS  A  FEW  DRAMATIC  REPRESENTATIONS,  IL 
LUSTRATIVE  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TlMES  AND  OF  THE 
PEOPLE 290 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE  AGENT  AND  THE  BAILIFF  ARE  BROUGHT  FROM  DARK 
NESS  INTO  LIGHT 310 

CHAPTER    XXII. 
IN  WHICH  AFFAIRS  BECOME  CRITICAL 319 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 
THE  CONCLUSION.  .    .  ....      333 


SHANDY    M'GUIRE; 

OR, 
TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NANCY  KELLY  OF  THE  "  GAP  "  AND  HER  ACQUAINTANCES. 

THE  sun  had  just  arisen  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  October, 
182-.  His  early  beams  were  beginning  their  gradual  as 
cent  up  the  rocky  side  of  Barnes'  Mountain.  This  moun 
tain  is  the  highest  of  a  range  running  east  and  west  for  a 
distance  of  some  thirty  miles,  and  bisecting  the  county 
Donegal.  The  stage-road,  leading  directly  from  the  little 
village  of  that  name  to  the  city  of  Londonderry,  passes 
through  this  chain  of  hills  at  right  angles.  The  gorge  or 
ravine,  through  which  the  road  winds  along  by  the  side  of 
a  small  rivulet,  would  seem  to  the  approaching  traveller  to 
have  been  the  effect  of  an  earthquake,  so  precipitously  do 
the  sides  of  the  mountain  rise,  dark  and  jarred,  as  if  it  re 
quired  a  powerful  effort  of  nature,  in  her  very  sulkiest 
mood,  to  tear  rather  than  split  them  asunder.  This  chasm, 
extending  north  and  south  for  four  miles,  and  enclosed  by 
walls,  on  either  side,  of  dwarf  limestone,  rising  in  some 
places  to  the  height  of  three  hundred  feet,  has  no  human 
habitation  within  it,  nor  indeed  any  other  signs  of  man's 
vicinity.  It  is  at  all  times  a  d reary  road,  —  bleak,  darksome, 
and  dispiriting  to  the  wayfarer,  for  he  takes  in,  in  one 

5 


6  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

glance,  the  whole  cheerless  vista,  and  then  all  is  gloom 
and  melancholy,  till  he  issues  out  from  the  glen  on  a  hap 
pier  and  brighter  prospect. 

On  the  very  summit  of  the  "  eastern  half,"  as  it  is  called, 
of  Barnes,  is  a  small  lake,  or  pond,  of  great  depth,  and 
perfectly  circular.  Owing  to  its  lofty  situation,  the  at 
mosphere  is  cold,  foggy,  and  disagreeable  to  the  occasional 
visitor,  and  yet  the  oldest  inhabitant  in  the  neighborhood 
never  remembers  to  have  seen  it  frozen  over  in  the  coldest 
winter.  It  is  known  by  the  name  of  "  Lough  Devenish," 
and  has  been  the  haunt  of  the  smuggler,  or  private  distil 
ler,  time  immemorial.  Many  attempts  have  been  made, 
from  time  to  time,  to  surprise  him  in  his  stronghold  ;  but 
he  invariably  escaped.  In  vain  did  the  gauger  or  prevent 
ive  officer  reach  within  hearing  of  the  smuggler's  voice, 
nay,  could  sometimes  hear  his  foot-falls  on  the  soft  marshy 
ground,  as  he  passed  to  and  fro  in  the  hurry  of  his  profit 
able  employment;  still  he  escaped,  by  night  or  by  day 
capture  was  impossible  —  so  thought  the  smuggler  at  least ; 
and  his  fancied  security  made  him  bold,  adventurous,  and 
successful. 

As  we  have  already  said,  it  was  the  early  morning, —  one 
of  those  cold,  gray  mornings,  so  very  common  in  Ireland 
about  the  end  of  October.  A  light  hoar-frost  had  covered 
the  ground,  but  was  now  beginning  to  disappear  on  the  ap 
proach  of  the  first  beams  of  the  sun,  when  a  young  man 
might  be  seen  descending  the  mountain,  near  the  "gap," 
as  the  entrance  to  the  glen  was  usually  called.  He  leaped 
rather  than  walked  down  the  precipitous  cliffs ;  and,  if  one 
could  judge  from  his  almost  reckless  rapidity  of  descent, 
was  evidently  well  acquainted  with  the  localities.  He 
might  have  been  somewhere  about  the  age  of  twenty- 
three  ;  tall,  well  proportioned,  and  strikingly  handsome. 
His  countenance  was  open,  frank,  and  prepossessing,  with 
sufficient  intellectuality  about  it  to  raise  him,  in  the  opin 
ion  of  an  accurate  observer,  a  little  above  the  common 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  7 

class  of  Irish  peasants.  His  dress  was  of  the  kind  generally 
worn  by  farmers'  sons  of  that  period,  —  a  frock  and  trou 
sers  of  blue  homespun  frieze.  His  cap  was  apparently  of 
the  same  material,  if  we  except  a  band  of  hare  or  rabbit 
skin  that  formed  the  rim,  and  gave  to  that  article  of  dress, 
and  indeed  to  the  whole  person  of  the  wearer,  a  smart  and 
somewhat  dashing  appearance. 

He  had,  in  a  very  few  minutes,  reached  the  high  road, 
and  was  proceeding  briskly  on  his  journey,  when  a  voice 
from  behind  called  to  him  to  take  his  time  and  wait  for 
company. 

"  Ye  maun  be  in  an  unco'  hurry,"  said  a  little  man  on 
horseback,  riding  up  close  to  him,  dressed  in  a  huge-caped 
overcoat,  glazed  hat,  and  buff  gaiters,  evidently  a  Crom- 
wellian,  as  his  accent  and  language  strongly  indicated  ; 
"  if  yer  gaun  to  the  fair,  jist  tak  yer  time,  an'  we'll  jog  on 
thegither." 

"An'  welcome,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "I'm  always  glad  i' 
the  company,"  and,  turning  to  the  stranger,  he  greeted  him 
in  the  fashion  of  his  country ;  "  you  must  have  had  a  long 
journey,  neighbor,"  he  continued  ;  "  the  baste  seems  to  be 
middlin'  tired." 

"  Weel,  I  canna  say  it  was  very  lang,  frien'.  I  left 
Stranorlan  a  while  afore  day,  an'  rode  to  keep  the  bluid 
frae  freezin' ;  the  night  was  cauld,  an'  the  gap,  as  ye  ken 
maybe,  na  jist  a  place  for  dreemin'  in." 

"  Thrue  for  ye,"  replied  his  companion,  thoughtfully ; 
"  many  a  poor  fellow  slept  soundly  in  Barnes  afore  this, 
that  dreamin'  was  little  trouble  to.  It's  a  cursed  place, 
God  between  us  and  harm;  if  the  walls  i'  the  auld  bar 
racks  beyont  there  could  spake,  it's  many's  the  quare  story 
they'd  tell.  But  surely,"  he  continued,  glancing  again  at 
the  horse  and  rider,  "surely,  now  that  I  remember,  I  saw 
that  powney  more  than  once  afore  in  this  quarter." 

"  An'  weel  ye  may  say  that,  honest  man,  an'  his  owner 
too  ;  aften  hae  I  gaed  through  '  Barnes'  Gap '  when  plenty 


8  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OK, 

wuclna  di  it.  I'm  drawin'  eight  years  now  on  this  road 
baith  night  and  day,  and  am  na  afeered  to  say  mony  a  guid 
wallet  o'  siller,  I  hae  carried  ahint  me  in  the  wee  bit  sad 
dle-bags,  and  still,  frien,'  if  the  truth  maun  be  towld,  deil 
as  much  as  the  price  o'  a  pipe  o'  tobacca  I  lost  in  it,  bad 
an'  a'  as  the  Gap  is." 

"  If  what  the  people  say  bees  true,"  observed  the  young 
man,  "  ye  surely  have  reason  to  be  thankful." 

"  Weel,  maybe  so,  but  yer  na  to  be  trustin'  half  the 
clavers  that's  goin',  an'  a  body  maun  aye  praise  the  fool 
as  he  finds  him.  As  for  auld  Duncan  here,  he's  no  at  him- 
sel  jist  so  weel  as  he  ust  to  be,  or  it's  no  much  grass  he'd 
let  grow  to  his  heels  atween  Stranorlan  and  Donegal;  he's 
lost  a'  his  capers  now,  and  taks  the  warld  easier.  But  I 
hae  that  by  me  that  might  gie  as  much  security  agin  dan 
ger  as  auld  Duncan  e'er  cud  do  in  his  young  days ;  if 
needs  be  I  maun  use  it.  It's  aye  a  consolation  among  the 
mountains." 

The  travellers  had  now  reached  a  turn  of  the  road,  be 
side  which  a  little  thatched  cabin  was  built  —  at  the  very 
foot  of  the  mountain,  and  directly  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Gap. 

"Here's  Nancy  Kelly's,"  said  the  horseman,  drawing  up 
the  loose  reins  of  his  bridle:  "she'll  na  be  pleased  if  I  din- 
na  pass  in,  an  hae  a  bit  crack  wi'  her.  Come  in,  frien',  an' 
tak  share  o'  a  glass." 

"  I'm  thankful  to  you,"  said  his  companion  :  "  sure  it's  a 
friend  id  offer  it,  but  I'll  take  nothin'  i'  that  kind  till  the 
day's  older." 

"  Hout  man !  ye'll  na  be  the  waur  o'  a  taste  this  raw 
mornin' — come  in." 
•  "I'd  rather  not." 

"  Weel,  weel !  corne  in  any  way ;  sure  it's  not  eat  ye  will 
do." 

The  horseman  alighted  at  the  door,  and  having  turned 
Duncan  towards  the  little  stable,  entered  Nancy  Kelly's, 
of  Barnes'  Gap. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  9 

"  Guid  day,  neighbor,"  said  he,  as  he  passed  the  thresh 
old,  "  yer  guy  an  early  at  wark  this  mornin'." 

The  person  thus  addressed  was  busy  at  her  wheel,  spin 
ning  her  hank  for  the  market.  She  was  amusing  herself 
humming  some  old  Irish  air,  as  was  her  wont,  when  en 
gaged  at  such  employment  —  little  expecting  customers 
would  drop  in  so  early  in  the  day.  She  might  have  been 
sixty,  or  perhaps  a  few  years  older  —  yet  still  hale  and 
healthy.  Her  figure  as  she  sat  at  the  wheel  was  remark 
ably  neat  and  tidy  for  a  woman  of  her  age.  She  wore  a 
large  cap  that  covered  the  whole  head  from  the  temples  to 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  around  which  were  swathed,  in 
shape  of  a  band  to  keep  her  warm,  several  yards  of  striped 
drugget,  similar  to  what  she  wore  in  her  gown  and  apron. 
Nancy,  notwithstanding  she  had  never  been  thirty  miles 
from  the  spot  on  which  she  was  born,  yet  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  the  world's  ways.  Experience  had  long  taught 
her  how  to  manage  her  little  affairs  with  profit  to  herself 
and  satisfaction  to  her  customers.  She  had  the  kind  word 
and  welcome  for  every  one,  and  all  who  knew  her  (and 
who  was  it  in  the  whole  country  round  that  did  not  know 
old  Nancy  of  the  Gap)  were  rejoiced  to  hear  of  her  wel 
fare  and  happiness.  One  child  only  she  ever  had,  and  he, 
in  her  own  expressive  language,  was  "  not  jist  as  he  ought 
to  be,  the  creathur."  Her  husband  was  dead  nearly  twen 
ty  years,  at  the  date  of  this  story,  and  Nancy  never  could 
find  it  in  her  heart,  as  she  often  said,  to  marry  again  —  to 
bring  a  strange  man  over  poor  "Dick,  the  omedawn."* 
She  paid  neither  rent  nor  taxes.  Her  cabin  was  small,  and 
easily  kept  in  repair, —  as  warm  and  snug  as  a  beehive. 
She  had  a  bed  for  herself  in  the  little  room  behind  the 
dresser,  one  for  Dick  beside  the  fire,  and  another  to  spare 
in  the  opposite  corner,  for  the  poor  distressed  wanderer, 
when  he  came  round  looking  for  his  bit,  and  his  sup,  and  a 
night's  lodging. 

*  Simpleton. 


10  SHANDY  M'GUTRE,   OR 

On  hearing  the  voice  behind  her,  she  rose  hastily  from 
her  seat,  and  wiping  the  dust  from  her  apron,  greeted  the 
new-comer. 

"  Musha  yer  welcome,  Mr.  Doogan ;  sure  it's  a  sight  for 
sore  eyes  to  see  you,  so  it  is.  Sit  down,  and  take  a  glaze 
i' the  fire.  An'  who's  this  ye  have  with  ye  —  Frank  Dev 
lin,  beclad  I  was  amost  not  knowin'  ye,  Frank.  Draw  a 
chair  both  o'  ye  to  the  fire  —  the  mornin's  cowld.  Will 
ye  rise  out  i'  that,  ye  lazy  fellow,"  she  continued,  speaking 
to  Dick,  in  a  somewhat  louder  tone  :  "  rise  up,  an'  let  the 
dacent  people  to  the  fire.  Well,  Mr.  Doogan,  an'  how  diz 
the  warld  use  you  this  hundher  years  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  canna  complain,  Nancy,"  replied  her  acquaint 
ance  ;  "  we  saw  better  times  an'  waur,  but  gin  a  body  gets 
his  share  o'  what's  goin'  he  shudna  grumble." 

"  To  be  sure,  dear,  God  is  good  to  us,  and  it's  thankful 
we'd  ought  to  be,  whin  he  leaves  us  the  mouthful  to  eat, 
and  the  roof  to  cover  us." 

"  Is  there  anything  warm  in  the  house  we'd  get  a  taste 
o'  ? "  said  Doogan,  interrupting  her  in  the  pious  remarks 
she  was  evidently  about  to  make,  and  rubbing  some  small 
pieces  of  tobacco  between  the  palms  of  his  hands.  "  I 
met  this  young  lad  doun  by  there,  and  brought  him  in  to 
tak  share  o'  a  glass." 

"  Indeed,  then  it's  little  ye  know  about  it,  neighbor,  if 
it's  in  the  house  ye  think  we  cud  keep  it,  an'  them  still- 
hunters  and  gangers  rummagin'  night  an'  day  about  the 
hill-foot  here.  But  sure  if  it  isn't  here,"  she  added,  smil 
ing,  "  it's  not  so  far  away  but  we  can  get  it  without  search 
ing  the  parish." 

Nancy  having  placed  a  chair  beside  the  dresser,  mounted 

"on  it  with  surprising  activity,  and  while  she  busied  herself 

to  find  the  spigot  behind  the  dishes,  continued  the  subject. 

"  Times  is  greatly  changed,  Misther  Doogan,  from  what 
they  used  to  be.  I  mind  when  it's  not  hidin'  the  spigot  I'd 
be,  nor  the  keg  neither ;  och,  augh,  weans  dear,  the  ould 


TEICKS  UPON  TEAVELLEHS.  11 

times  was  the  good  times,  when  a  body  cud  do  what  they 
like't  with  their  own;  but  what's  the  use  i'  talkin'  i'  them 
now,  when  it's  every  day  oulder  an'  every  day  worse  they're 
gettin',  jist  like  ourselves,  I'll  warrint.  What  d'ye  think," 
she  continued,  turning  on  the  chair  with  an  air  of  offended 
dignity,  and  facing  her  visitors,  "  what  d'ye  think  Joice  the 
gauger  said  to  me  th'  other  day?  He  wanted  me  to  inform 
on  the  boys  above  at  Lough  Devenish — deil  a  less  it  was, 
ha!  ha!"  and  the  old  woman  laughed  in  very  mockery  of 
the  thought. 

"Yer  na  the  first,  maybe,"  observed  Doogan,  "he 
coaxed  to  di  him  that  favor.  There's  mair  people  goin' 
than's  a'  honest." 

"  Och,  then,  bad  luck  to  the  dhurty  fingers  that  id  take 
his  bribe,"  said  Nancy,  bitterly ;  "  murdher  itself 's  dacent 
compared  with  that" 

"  It  id  be  a  charity  to  the  parish  he's  livin'  in,  to  twist 
the  neck  aif  him,  the  villain,"  interrupted  Frank  Devlin, 
with  some  warmth  of  expression.  "  It  isn't  enough  for 
him  to  do  his  duty  (and  I  wouldn't  blame  him  for  that, 
seein'  he's  sworn  to  it),  but  he  must  overdo  it;  and  more 
nor  all  insultin'  the  poor  widow  woman  with  his  informin', 
because  she  is  poor  and  helpless,  and  no  one  to  stand  up 
for  her.  But  it's  no  wondher,  sure,  the  clean  blood's  not 
in  him,  any  way ;  we  mightn't  expect  any  better  from  him, 
the  turncoat  that  he  is,  a  burning  shame  and  disgrace  to 
the  country  he  came  from." 

"It's  the  truth  yer  sayin',  Frank,"  replied  the  widow, 
elevating  her  voice  still  more,  and  placing  her  hands  on 
her  sides,  with  arms  akimbo,  "  but  listen  till  ye  hear ;  in 
troth  I'll  be  a  flay  in  yer  stockin'  afore  yer  much  oulder, 
Mrs.  Kelly,  siz  he,  if  ye  don't  give  us  a  wink  i'  the  place 
above.  I  know,  siz  he,  well  enough  what  they  are  ;  they're 
good  neighbors,  of  coorse,  Mrs.  Kelly,  and  kindly  too,  if  a 
body  can  judge  i'  the  fat  pigs  you  can  send  to  the  market, 
and  you  not  havin'  a  spot  for  pratee  ground  ;  to  be  sure 


12  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OR 

they  give  ye  the  grains  a?i'  the  potale  to  feed  them  on,  an' 
well  ye  desarve  it,  seem'  yer  convanient  to  them,  and  use 
ful,  if  it  was  only  in  regard  i'  givin'  them  the  news,  and  a 
coal  maybe  now  and  then  to  light  the  still  fires ;  but  you 
know.  Nancy,  my  friendship's  better  nor  the  grains,  ony 
day,  siz  he,  and  ye'd  do  well  to  keep  that  same  while  it's 
in  yer  offer.  An'  whusper,  Nancy,  siz  he,  takin'  me  by  the 
sleeve;  yer  a  lone  woman  and  an  honest  one,  siz  he,  and 
indeed  I'd  like  to  befriend  ye  in  yer  ould  days,  so  jist  tell 
us  i'  the  place  above  —  the  sacret,  you  know — how  we'll  take 
them  ;  and  see,  Nancy,  by  all  that's  great,  I'll  give  ye  more 
in  one  day,  than  ye'll  make  at  half-pints  and  glasses  these 
five  years  to  come.  I'll  niver  open  my  lips  to  mortial 
brathin'  about  it.  And  rnind  me,  Nancy  Kelly,  it's  not 
what  I'd  gain  by  the  fine  I  care  for  —  no,  siz  he,  not  the 
value  i'  the  turf  on  yer  fire  there ;  but  I'd  be  made  an  in 
spector  of — yes,  that's  the  reward  for  takin'  the  Gallinachs 
of  Lough  Devenish,  for  the  colonel  himself  has  set  his  heart 
on  them.  So,  Nancy,  let  out  the  sacret,  and  ye'll  get 
a  dacent  consideration,  something  that  '11  do  ye  good, 
when,  maybe,  ye'll  be  most  in  want  of  a  friend."  As  the 
old  woman  finished  this  long  and  somewhat  tedious  report 
of  the  ganger's  proposal,  she  paused  for  a  moment  to  ex 
amine  the  effect  which  her  words  might  have  produced  on 
the  countenance  of  her  auditors,  particularly  on  that  of 
Doogan,  to  whom  she  seemed  specially  to  address  herself, 
and  then  continued:  "  Now,  neighbors,  did  ye  iver  hear  the 
equal  i'  that,  to  buy  my  sowl  for  a  consideration,  ay, 
that's  the  very  word.  Och  !  in  throth  its  jist  like  him;  he 
made  away  with  his  own  sowl,  to  get  to  be  a  gauger ;  an' 
he  thinks,  I'll  warrint,  every  other  might  do  the  same. 
Wasn't  he,"  she  added,  "  one  i'  the  Joices  i'  Connaught, 
one  i'  the  rale  ould  stock  that  was  Romans,  and  their  fathers 
afore  them,  since  the  flood  ?  " 

"Ye  might  tak  yer  davie  o'  that,  wi  a  clean  conscience," 
replied  Doogan,  as  he  puffed  his  tobacco,  his  head  now 
bent  down,  and  his  arms  leaning  across  his  knees. 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  13 

"  Ay,"  continued  the  widow,  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  spoke 
her  contempt  more  eloquently  than  words  could  do  it ;  "ay, 
an'  now  he's  a  Protestan'.  O,  to  be  sure,  a  rale  alumnach* 
out  an'  out;  an'  gaes  to  church  like  the  rest  i'  the  gran 
folks,  carryin'  his  Bible  undherhis  arm,  an'  singin'  hymes 
with  the  minister's  sister  —  the  skinflint  that  id  make  ye 
hungry  to  look  at  her,  so  it  wad.  But  he  needn't  think  to 
buy  my  sowl  with  his  considtheration ;  no,  no,"  she  added, 
adjusting  her  cap,  and  smoothing  back  her  gray  hairs  with 
an  air  of  affectation,  "  no,  no,  Mr.  Doogan,  death  before  in- 
formin';  no,  there's  no  dirty  blood  in  the  Kelleys;  nor  it 
never  was  said  to  one  i'  the  breed  they  did  the  mane 
thine/.'" 

Whether  Doogan  suspected  the  old  woman  to  have 
made  some  secret  allusion  to  himself  in  the  last  sentence 
she  uttered,  or  whether  it  was  from  impatience  of  her 
delay  in  finding  the  articles  she  was  in  quest  of,  it  would 
at  present  be  difficult  to  determine;  but  at  all  events,  he 
again  requested  to  be  Served  with  the  liquor  as  soon  as 
possible. 

Our  hostess  at  length  succeeded  in  finding  the  spigot, 
and  descending  from  her  tribune,  hastened  from  the  cabin, 
motionino-  to  Frank  Devlin  to  follow  her. 

O 

The  young  man  cheerfully  accompanied  the  widow  to 
the  spot  where  the  keg  was  deposited.  It  was  at  some 
distance  from  the  house,  and  behind  a  ledge  that  butted 
on  the  east  end  of  the  stable.  She  directed  her  companion 
to  roll  over  carefully  a  rock  that  lay  on  the  marshy  soil 
directly  under  the  ledge,  as  if  it  had  fallen  from  the  height 
above,  and  found  a  chance  resting-place  on  the  level  ground 
below. 

"  It's  a  strange  hidin'-place,"  observed  Nancy,  smiling ; 
"it's  simple,  but  sure.  Many's  the  time  Joice  sat  there, 
ay,  on  that  very  same  rock,  while  his  men  were  scowrin' 

*  Contemptuous  name  for  English  Protestant. 


14  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   Oil 

the  hills  up  there  after  their  prey.  Aisiest  hid  isn't  aisiest 
foun'  always,  you  know.  There  now,"  she  continued,  "lift 
out  the  keg  —  out  man!  don't  be  afeard  —  there's  not  a 
sowl  stirrin'  about  —  sure  I  was  up  there  on  the  knowe 
afore  ye  came  in  —  as  for  Doogan,  there's  one  to  watch 
him." 

"  Oh,"  said  Frank,  carelessly,  "  there's  little  fear  of  him ; 
he's  but  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  I  suppose ;  but  anyway, 
Nancy,  it's  better  be  sure  than  sorry."  So  he  hastened  to 
fill  the  pitcher,  and  replace  the  rock  in  its  usual  position. 

"A  stranger,"  repeated  the  widow;  "not  so  great  a 
stranger  maybe  as  you  take  him  for ;  and  listen  to  me, 
Frank  Devlin,  a  word's  sometimes  as  good  as  a  sarmint. 
I'd  jist  trust  him  as  far  as  I'd  throw  him.  So  that's  enough 
now;  laste  said's  soonest  mended.  Keep  yer  mind  to 
yerself,  and  drink  none  with  him  till  I  see  ye  again.  But 
where  did  you  happen  in  with  him,  Frank  ? "  demanded 
Nancy,  as  if  some  new  idea  had  suddenly  crossed  her 
mind. 

"  Not  a  gunshot  from  the  house." 

"  You  were  early  afoot,  Frank ;  an'  where,  might  a  body 
ax,  were  ye  spendiu'  the  night  ?  " 

The  young  man  smiled,  and  pointed  in  the  direction  of 
Lough  Devenish. 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  said  the  widow,  with  some  surprise  ;  "  I  didn't 
think  you  had  anything  to  do  with  that  business." 

"  No  more  I  haven't,  Nancy." 

"  Musha  in  troth  then,  Frank,  dear,  ye  do  well,  for  it's 
poor,  slavish  work,  so  it  is;  niver  a  minit  at  aze  while 
there's  a  drap  in  the  worm,  or  a  grain  in  the  kieve,*  but 
splashin'  for  iver  in  wet  and  cowld,  and  then  the  dan 
ger-" 

"  Hugh  !  "  interrupted  the  young  man,  "  as  for  danger, 
why  there's  danger  in  everything  we  lay  our  hands  to 


Vat 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  15 

these  times  —  no,  no,  it's  not  that  I  regard  —  but  some 
way  I  think  it's  bad  and  sinful  employment.  Feen  a  penny 
I  iver  knew  was  made  by  it  yet  —  but  melted  away, 
as  Father  Domnick  often  says,  like  snow  off  the  ditch. 
There's  no  luck  with  it.  *  And  anyway,  the  Church  says 
agin  it,  and  that  ought  to  be  enough '  for  us.  No,  no,  it 
was  another  little  business  brought  me  up  there." 

From  the  smile,  and  the  peculiar  intonation  accompany 
ing  the  last  words  of  the  speaker,  Nancy  judged  there  was 
some  secret  connected  with  his  visit  to  the  hill.  She 
paused  for  a  moment  to  conjecture  what  it  might  be,  and 
then  with  an  affected  carelessnes,  repeated  the  words,  — 

"  Other  business  —  well,  av  coorse  that's  yer  own  affair." 

"  Oh,  nothing  but  a  mere  trifle,"  he  replied,  determined 
to  tempt  her  curiosity  still  further ;  "nothing  of  any  conse 
quence —  but  Doogan  is  waiting,"  he  added,  moving  to 
wards  the  house. 

"  Let  him  wait  there,"  said  Nancy,  somewhat  pettishly, 
for  she  felt  by  no  means  satisfied  with  the  answer  she 
received. 

"  I'll  engage,"  she  observed,  hazarding  another  guess  at 
the  secret,  "  maybe  it  was  a  drop  for  the  weddin'  ye  were 
bespakin'." 

"  Hugh  !  nonsense,  woman ;  what  puts  that  in  yer  head  ?  " 

"  Deil  a  hapworth  else  it  was,"  ejaculated  the  widow, 
looking  full  in  Frank's  fine,  open  countenance,  over  which 
a  smile  was  again  passing,  that  he  vainly  endeavord  to 
suppress  ;  "  eh,  am  I  right,  Frank  ?  " 

"  Out !  come  away,  I  tell  ye,  Doogan's  waiting  for  ye." 

"Ha!  ha!"  chuckled  the  widow  at  the  depth  of  her 
penetration ;  "ha!  my  bouchal,  I  guessed  there  was  some- 
thin'  in  the  win'  —  if  am  blin',  'am  na  blunt,  as  the  broken 
needle  said  to  the  tailor,  when  he  sat  on't;  an'  tell  me, 
Frank,  is  it  the  same  one  still,  —  Mary  Connor?" 

"  The  very  same." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  woman,  now  in  evident  good 


1G  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

humor,  and  shaking  her  hand,  in  which  she  held  the  spigot, 
playfully  at  her  companion,  "  ye'd  desave  a  saint,  so  ye 
wud.  Sure,  we  thought  you  hadn't  the  laste  nation  at  all 
of  her,  after  bein'  refused  last  year.  An'  yer  goin'  to 
marry  her  after  all  the  abuse  they  give  ye  about  her  at  the 
Lammas  market ! " 

"D'ye  think  I'd  desart  her,  Nancy,  for  a  broken  head  in 
a  scrimmage  at  a  fair ;  no,  not  if  she  hadn't  a  stitch  to 
cover  her  —  if  I  once  said  the  word." 

"I  know  it,  Frank;  in  troth  the  dacency's  in  ye,  for  ye 
wudn't  be  yer  father's  son  if  it  wusn't.  An'  maybe  it  was 
all  for  the  better;  bad  scran  to  me,  but  myself's  glad  of  it, 
anyway,  for  your  own  sake  as  well  as  for  hers,  tJ^e  creathur, 
for  she  stuck  to  ye  through  thick  and  thin,  so  she  did ;  and 
not  that  I'd  say  it,  Frank  Devlin,  an  you  to  the  fore, 
gohans  to  the  purtier  couple  'ill  walk  the  five  parishes  than 
Mary  Connor  and  your  own  four  bones,  an'  that's  plain 
spakin'  —  deil  a  purtier ;  an'  tell  iz,  man,  how  did  ye  get 
the  ould  joker  to  consint,  after  all  he  said  agin  the  match  ?  " 

"  Sorra  much  myself  knows,  Nancy,  if  it  wasn't  that  re 
port  about  the  agent." 

«  Who  —  Cantwell  ?  " 

"  Ay,  but  av  coorse  ye  heard  it." 

"  Gahun  to  the  word." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  with  a  bitterness  of  feeling  apparent 
in  his  countenance,  which  he  found  it  impossible  entirely 
to  conceal,  "  it's  scarcely  worth  the  talkin'  of.  You  know 
what  he  said  of  poor  Mary  Curran,  because  she  wudn't  con 
sent  to  demane  herself  with  him  — till  he  broke  her  heart. 
God  be  merciful  to  her,  the  innocent  creathur,  she's  now 
in  her  grave  !  He's  not  a  lucky  bird  to  see  comin'  about 
any  poor  man's  house ;  and  so  the  ould  man,  her  father, 
thought  he  used  to  come  too  often  about  Fubbernasiggart 
to  see  Mary  Connor,  so  for  fear  av  any  danger  to  her  char 
acter,  an'  seein'  the  difference  was  only  about  a  trifle,  he 
thinks  it's  best  to  let  her  have  her  own  way.  So  Nancy, 
that's  the  inns  an'  outs  of  it,  as  far  as  I  know." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  17 

"  And  bad  enough,"  replied  the  dame,  in  a  melancholy 
tone.  "  God  purtect  every  creathur  from  the  wickedness 
that's  goin'.  Bad  enough,  surely,  when  the  people  that 
ought  to  save  the  sowls  of  the  poor  are  the  first  to  destroy 
them.  There's  that  innocent  girl  ye  spoke  of,  Mary  Cur- 
ran,  she  died  of  a  crushed  an'  broken  heart,  bekase  she 
cudn't  bear  the  shame  that  came  upon  her  by  that  villain 
Cant  well,  an'  his  father  the  recther  i'  the  parish.  Och, 
augh  !  may  God  forgive  me,  but  when  I  see  them  English 
Protestan'  reperbates  mockin'  my  dacent  neighbor's  chil 
dren  in  the  fair,  but  I  feel  some  way  as  if  I  cud  brain  them 
on  the  spot.  Well,  well,  sure  there's  One  above  us  all, — 
He  knows  best  what  to  do  for  us  ;  maybe  there's  good  times 
comin'  —  these  things  can't  always  go  on  this  way  —  pa 
tience,  Frank,  an'  all  'ill  be  right  yet." 

"  Patience,  Nancy,  is  a  good  thing  if  one  had  enough  of 
it,  but  Job  himselfj  if  he  lived  nowadays,  cudn't  stand  it." 

"  The  aisy  way's  the  best  way,  acushla,  and  always  ends 
best." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Nancy,  that's  father  Domnick's  story,  but  we'll 
soon  get  tired  of  it,  and  so  will  he,  maybe,  before  all's 
over." 

"  Well,  whether  or  not,  dear,  niver  say  agin  the  priest's 
advice." 

"  I've  tried  to  be  guided  by  him  so  far,  Nancy,  and  niver 
give  in  to  be  a  Ribbonman,  though  many's  the  time  I  was 
sorely  pressed ;  for  not  to  speak  i'  the  sin  of  it,  it  'id  bring 
my  father's  ould  bones  to  the  grave  to  hear  that  his  son 
was  put  out  of  the  congregation  for  the  likes  of  it,  but  I 
pray  Providence  that  I  may  niver  be  tempted  again  as  I 
was  last  Monday  mornin'.  Nancy,  Nancy,  it's  hard  for 
flesh  and  blood  to  stand  the  trials  that's  put  afore  us. 
When  I  saw  that  day  the  remains  iv  poor  Mary  Curran 
carried  in  her  coffin  to  the  grave,  the  innocent  girl  that 
Archy  Cantwell  had  ruined  and  murdhered ;  to  see  her 
there  and  her  father  and  mother,  our  honest,  dacent,  kinly 
2 


18  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,  on 

neighbors,  and  her  little  brothers  and  sisthers  (the  crea- 
thurs  that  didn't  know  what  they  were  doin'),  to  see  them 
cryin'  about  the  coffin  —  to  see  that  sight  at  the  gate  'i  the 
churchyard,  and  wudn't  be  let  in  by  the  recther,  the  father 
i'  the  villain  that  murdhered  her,  because  they  were  Cath 
olics,  till  the  priest  'id  take  the  4  stole  '  off  his  neck,  and  go 
in  like  one  uv  ourselves.*  Ough,  Nancy,  I'd  have  torn  the 
scoundrel  from  his  horse,  only  for  the  priest  that  stood  be 
side  me.  But  let  him  keep  off  anyway,  for  minister  an' 
all  as  he  is,  I  might  be  tempted  some  time  or  other  to  do 
him  harm." 

"  Whist,  Frank  dear,  God  love  ye,  an'  don't  say  that  — 
sure  he's  in  betther  hands.  If  they're  rich  an'  great  now, 
it's  not  to  last  always  —  they  can't  carry  it  to  the  grave 
with  them  —  no,  dear,  it's  all  the  reward  they're  to  get, 
and  its  pity  them  we  ought  to  do.  Let  us  be  content  with 
our  ould  religion  and  our  poverty,  for  'am  thinkin'  they 
must  go  thegither  to  the  end ;  they  wear  well,  Frank  dear, 
an'  no  disgrace  but  a  blissin'  to  them  that  takes  care  'i 
them.  Our  Saviour  himself  was  poor,  and  persecuted  more 
nor  iver  we  were,  and  surely  ye  oughtn't  to  be  ashamed  to 
suffer  like  him.  The  time  'ill  come  when  we'll  all  see 
whether  our  cross  an'  our  beads  'ill  be  an  upcast  to  us.  So 
God  bliss  ye,  Frank,  an'  niver  bring  that  same  cross  to 
shame  and  disgrace  afore  them  that's  its  enemies,  bekase 
they're  too  proud  to  wear  it."  And  so  saying,  she  pre 
ceded  her  companion  to  the  cabin. 

*  This  was  quite  a  common  occurrence  in  the  North  at  that  time, 
and  even  since  the  passage  of  Emancipation. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  19 


CHAPTER    II. 

WHICH    MIGHT     HAVE     BEEN     THE    FIRST  ;   OK,   A   PEEP   BE 
HIND    THE    CUKTAIN. 

WHATEVER  may  have  given  rise  to  the  suspicions  Nancy 
entertained  of  Doogan,  the  butcher  (for  that  was  his  trade), 
and  which  she  communicated  in  some  degree  to  her  young 
friend,  they  certainly  made  an  impression,  and  he  resolved 
accordingly  to  be  cautious  of  new  acquaintances,  and  of 
his  fellow-traveller  in  particular. 

The  widow  was  said  to  be  (in  the  language  of  that  part 
of  the  country)  "  a  wise,  canny  old  woman."  She  had 
lived  in  the  cabin  at  the  "Gap  "  for  more  than  forty  years, 
and  owing  to  her  situation  of  life,  had  acquired  consider 
able  experience  of  the  world.  The  little  white  pitcher  and 
glass  were  always  exposed  in  the  window  —  a  sure  indica 
tion,  in  those  days,  of  something  warm  within  for  the  trav 
eller,  before  he  entered  on  the  dark  and  desolate  glen  of 
Barnesmore.  In  other  words  (as  the  reader  will  doubtless 
have  already  suspected),  Nancy  kept  a  Shebeen*  got  a  fail- 
share  of  all  the  odd  pence  were  going,  and  what  she  valued 
nearly  as  much,  a  very  large  share  of  the  news  and  gossip 
of  the  county.  Frank  saw  all  this  at  a  glance,  and  was 
perfectly  satisfied  she  had  not  spoken  so  disparaging  of 
Doogan,  without  some  strong  reason.  He  had  been  told 
of  spies  going  through  the  county,  paid  by  government 
for  the  detection  of  Ribbon  conspiracies,  and  ready  at  any 

*  Dram  Shop. 


20  SHANDY    M'GUIRE,     OK 

moment,  under  very  slight  pretences,  to  deliver  up  the  in 
nocent  as  well  as  the  guilty,  into  the  hands  of  the  execu 
tive.  He  often  heard  the  priest  caution  his  people  against 
secret  societies,  under  any  and  every  form,  or  for  any  pur 
pose,  however  feasible,  and  frequently  denounce  those  who 
had  been  known  as  the  leaders  of  such  parties,  from  the 
altar  of  the  parish.  Unlike  some  intemperate  and  insub 
ordinate  young  men  among  his  acquaintances,  he  never 
questioned  the  motives  which  actuated  the  pastors  of  the 
Catholic  Church  in  suppressing  secret  societies.  Convinced 
of  its  infallibility  in  matters  of  faith,  and  of  its  consummate 
wisdom  and  prudence  in  matters  of  discipline,  he  bowed 
at  once  submissively  to  its  precepts,  conscious,  that  if  ho 
once  disputed  its  authority,  or  examined  its  reasons  or  its 
motives  before  he  adopted  its  rules  or  its  doctrine,  he  was 
no  longer  a  Catholic  in  spirit,  but  only  in  name. 

But,  besides  the  spy  system,  there  was  another  nearly 
allied  to  it  —  perhaps  growing  out  of  it  —  which  never  has 
been  paralleled  in  the  history  of  civil  governments,  in  the 
existence  of  which  few,  indeed,  could  be  induced  to  be 
lieve,  if  they  had  not  the  surest  proofs  to  satisfy  them  of 
the  facts.  We  mean  the  system  of  "  spotting,"  as  it  was 
then  familiarly  called.  It  was  sufficient  that  papers,  or 
any  other  equivocal  evidence  of  partyism  were  found  on 
the  person  or  property  of  the  Catholic,  with  or  without 
his  culpable  knowledge,  to  subject  him  to  imprisonment 
and  transportation  beyond  the  seas.  By  this  scheme,  every 
man  was  exposed  to  arrest  —  he  might  be  placed  at  any 
moment  at  the  mercy  of  the  laws,  and  every  subordinate 
of  the  government,  down  to  the  lowest  policeman,  have 
abundant  opportunities  of  satisfying  his  personal  resent 
ment. 

The  Catholic  religion,  even  so  lately  as  the  year  182-, 
was  practised  in  the  North  of  Ireland,  less  by  right  than 
by  sufferance.  Its  enemies  had  long  felt  it  was  not  in  their 
power -utterly  to  extinguish  it ;  but  they  hoped,  by  a  heart- 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  21 

less  and  unremitting  petty  persecution,  so  to  stigmatize  and 
debase  its  followers,  that  shame  and  opprobrium  might  at 
length  have  the  effect  of  forcing  them  to  abandon  it,  and 
adopt  the  more  fascinating  and  more  accommodating  doc 
trine  of  Protestantism.  Such  a  line  of  policy  they  had 
every  facility  necessary  to  carry  out.  The  ministers  of  the 
Anglican  Church  were  almost  without  an  exception  in  the 
commission  of  the  peace,  and  therefore  had  a  large  propor 
tion  of  the  civil  power  of  the  country  placed  at  their  con 
trol.  On  the  other  hand,  the  county  treasuries  were  under 
the  management  of  the  grand  juries,  consisting  entirely  of 
tory  landlords  and  their  agents ;  and  they,  for  the  most 
part,  masters  and  district  superintendents  of  Orange  lodges. 
Then  the  police,  in  the  third  place,  were  the  nominees  of  the 
loyal  aristocracy ;  and,  if  we  can  judge  from  well-ascer 
tained  facts,  seemed  to  have  been  intended  more  as  a  legal 
ized  embodiment  of  all  the  illegitimacy  of  the  land,  than 
as  a  respectable  force,  established  for  the  protection  of  life 
and  property.  This  rural  police,  supported  by  the  enor 
mous  sum  of  half  a  million  and  upwards,  drawn  from  a 
country  already  on  the  verge  of  starvation,  had  yet  no 
sympathies  in  common  with  its  people.  Educated  as  they 
were,  chiefly  in  the  charter  schools  and  various  other  asy 
lums  for  unfatherless  orphans,  they  naturally  grew  up  and 
came  out  upon  the  world  with  all  the  rancorous  prejudices 
of  these  famous  establishments.  "  They  were  just  the  men," 
as  Lord  G — ch  said  before  "  George  "  raised  him  to  the 
peerage,  "just  the  men  a  viceroy  wanted  to  rule  a  nation 
of  vagabonds."  They  were  taught  to  regard  the  Irish 
Catholic  as  the  Hindoo  regards  his  neighbor  who  has  lost 
caste  —  a  native,  to  be  sure,  born  on  the  same  soil  and 
with  the  same  natural  faculties,  but  so  degraded  and  dis 
graced  as  to  lose  all  claim  to  the  fellowship  of  his  kind. 
They  saw  themselves,  to  the  number  of  10,000,  scattered 
over  the  land,  and  still  united  together  by  the  same  com 
mon  bond  of  hatred  to  everything  Catholic,  and  possessing 


22  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

at  the  same  time  a  jurisdiction  and  power  almost  as  irre 
sponsible  as  it  was  unlimited. 

What  wonder,  therefore,  if  seeing  themselves  placed  in 
such  a  position,  encouraged  by  the  legislature,  and  driven 
on  by  the  clerical  magistracy  and  aristocracy  of  the  North, 
they  adopted  every  means  within  their  reach  to  weaken 
the  influence  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  Ulster!  What 
wonder,  if  they  felt  it  not  a  matter  of  choice,  but  of  duty, 
to  their  religion  and  its  ministers  (their  patrons),  to  per 
secute  the  friendless  and  broken-hearted  Catholic,  in  every 
form  short  of  open  and  manifest  contempt  of  the  statutes 
of  the  realm!  Indeed,  at  such  a  time,  and  with  the  very 
unequivocal  marks  of  encouragement  so  often  received 
from  their  superiors,  it  is  not  by  any  means  surprising,  if 
we  find  in  the  records  of  those  years  numerous  instances 
of  policemen  charged  with  the  most  horrible  perjury,  un 
hesitatingly  practised  on  trials  for  Ribbon  conspiracies. 
It  was  of  no  moment  to  them,  whether  their  victim  was 
innocent  or  guilty,  their  persecution  was  not  to  be  directed 
against  him  as  a  violator  of  the  law  exactly,  but  as  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Romish  Church.  Precisely  so  —  they  had 
sworn,  on  entering  the  service,  and  by  command  of  the 
government,  the  Catholic  religion  to  be  "superstitious, 
idolatrous,  and  damnable;"  and  what  stronger  reason 
could  they  have  than  this  for  exterminating,  by  every  pos 
sible  means,  the  members  of  its  communion  ?  Besides, 
they  saw  Orange  lodges  in  every  town  and  village  of  the 
province ;  they  saw  their  members  parade  the  streets  in 
broad  daylight,  carrying  offensive  emblems,  using  insulting 
and  abusive  language,  disturbing  the  harmony  of  society, 
and,  in  a  word,  outraging  the  decencies  and  civilities  of 
life.  All  this  they  saw  enacted  in  the  very  presence  of  the 
magistracy,  without  let  or  hinderance  —  men  violating  with 
impunity  the  very  laws,  in  letter  and  spirit,  for  the  infrac 
tion  of  which  the  Catholic  and  the  Ribbonman  were  to  be 
visited  with  signal  punishment.  It  is  needless,  therefore, 


TRICKS   UPON   TKAVELLEKS.  23 

to  say,  the  constabulary  were  well  aware  of  the  real  mo 
tives  of  the  government,  namely,  that  it  neither  intended 
to  pass  the  penal  enactment,  nor  them  to  enforce  it  against 
the  individual  as  a  member  of  an  illegal  society,  but  as  a 
follower  of  a  proscribed  religious  communion.  Hence  it 
is  we  have  so  many  cases  of  perjury  recorded  against  these 
convenient  instruments  of  the  executive.  It  was  not  at 
all  uncommon  to  see  a  policeman  dragging  a  Catholic  be 
fore  the  authorities  for  trial,  on  the  evidence  of  a  bit  of 
paper  found  on  his  person,  and  of  which  the  victim  .was 
entirely  unconscious,  till  the  moment  of  his  arrest. 

Why,  therefore,  should  we  wonder,  if  the  Catholics  of 
Ulster,  thus  goaded  to  desperation,  should  adopt  some 
measures  for  their  protection  and  defence?  Abandoned  to 
themselves  and  their  own  scanty  resources,  nay,  singled 
out  by  the  very  authorities  of  the  state  as  victims  to  be 
sacrificed,  it  was  naturally  to  be  expected  they  would  lean 
upon  each  other  foV  that  support  which  the  state  denied 
them.  Such  societies,  no  doubt,  are  illicit,  by  divine  as 
well  as  human  law,  because,  even  if  they  cause  no  actual 
injury  to  person  or  property,  they  keep  up  a  continual 
dread  in  the  bosom  of  society,  which  sooner  or  later  leads 
to  the  worst  consequences  —  the  loss  of  public  trust,  and 
the  derangement  of  social  order.  It  is  not,  therefore,  the 
design  of  the  writer  of  these  pages  to  vindicate  such  a 
system  from  a  charge  of  moral  guilt,  but  rather  to  show 
how  powerful  a  hold  religion  must  have  had  upon  the 
hearts  of  those  men,  who,  even  when  shut  out  from  the 
communion  of  the  church,  and  writhing  under  the  lash  of 
a  merciless  government,  were  contented  to  carry  the  in 
struments  of  defence,  rather  than  those  of  aggression. 
The  reader  who  has  studied  the  causes  of  revolutions  in 
other  countries,  will  find  them  all  presented  to  him  in  the 
last  half-century  of  Ireland's  history,  in  forms  the  most  ag 
gravating  and  exciting.  His  wonder  will  be,  that  a  na 
tion,  thus  harassed,  did  not  rise  and  break  her  fetters  with 


24  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

the  giant  might  she  possessed,  instead  of  suffering  herself 
to  be  bound  and  whipped  like  a  slave. 

The  attempt  to  suppress  Ribbon  societies  in  Ulster  by 
civil  authority  alone,  was  a  complete  failure,  simply  be 
cause  the  Catholics  regarded  such  enactments  as  directed 
specially  against  their  religion,  and  because  they  had  long 
since  lost  all  respect  for  their  political  rulers.  The  more 
closely  the  law  pursued  them,  the  more  urgent  did  it  ren 
der  the  necessity  of  self-defence,  until  day  after  day  the 
opposition  became  more  steady  and  determined,  and  by 
degrees  better  organized  and  more  concentrated.  Then 
there  was  a  pause.  Each  party  gazed  at  the  other  with  a 
strange  mixture  of  irresolute  courage  and  fearful  apprehen 
sion —  resolved  not  to  retreat,  and  yet  doubtful  as  to  the 
safety  of  advance.  They  were  somewhat  like  the  warriors 
in  the  "  fairy  tales,"  imprisoned  in  old  castles,  with  swords 
drawn  and  ready  to  fall  on,  just  at  the  moment  of  their 
enchantment.  The  arm  of  the  executive  all  at  once  be 
came  powerless.  The  people  began  first  to  sneer,  and  then 
to  laugh  outright,  at  the  impotency  of  the  force  that  at 
tempted  to  subdue  them.  They  felt  at  last  their  own 
power,  and  resolved  to  depend  upon  it  alone  for  protec 
tion.  They  soon  became  an  organized  body,  ill-regulated 
and  badly  disciplined,  no  doubt,  but  still  a  united  body, 
formidable  in  numbers,  and  dangerous  from  previous  exas 
peration.  In  such  a  perplexed  state  of  affairs,  the  minis 
ter  had  no  resource  to  fly  to.  His  strength,  on  which 
alone  he  depended,  was  now  completely  exhausted ;  and 
what  was  still  more  provoking,  it  was  by  an  over-exertion 
of  that  very  strength  he  found  himself  defeated.  It  was 
then  he  felt  that  Ireland  would  yet  be  the  difficulty. 

In  proportion  as  this  spirit  of  opposition,  on  the  part  of 
the  Catholics,  increased,  so  also  did  public  interest  gather 
round  it,  to  give  it  importance ;  and  thus  the  government 
had  no  longer  a  remote  and  disregarded  people  to  deal 
with,  as  it  suited  its  fancy  or  caprice,  but  one  coming  in 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  25 

day  after  day  still  farther  on  the  theatre  of  the  empire, 
and  declaring  its  right  to  be  acknowledged  in  that  assem 
bly.  Ireland,  in  fact,  at  that  very  period,  had  been  creat 
ing  for  itself  under  a  number  of  fortuitous  circumstances, 
a  general  sympathy  for  its  suffering  condition  —  not  only 
amongst  the  masses  in  England,  but  throughout  every  part 
of  Europe.  The  old  Catholic  nobility  and  aristocracy  of 
England  had  begun  to  creep  out  on  the  world  after  a  long 
concealment.  They  were  making  themselves  recognized 
as  men  whose  high  standing  in  society  gave  them  a  right 
to  some  consideration  in  political  affairs.  Catholic  disabil 
ities  too  were  much  talked  of.  The  Scotch  reviews  had 
succeeded  in  laying  hold  of  the  public  mind,  and  forcing  it, 
by  repeated  solicitations,  to  consider  the  social  and  politi 
cal  condition  of  the  Irish  Catholics.  All  these  causes 
united,  and  working  together,  had  sensibly  softened  down 
party  prejudices  and  religious  animosity.  Indeed,  so  much 
so,  that  the  Irish  for  the  future  should  and  ought  to  be  re 
garded  as  a  sect  at  least,  —  professing  Christian  principles, 
and  hence  entitled  to  some  attention  on  the  part  of  the 
legislature.  Sir  John,  the  premier,  saw  all  this,  but  only 
when  it  was  too  late.  He  was  now  in  a  very  great  diffi 
culty.  He  had  blustered  a  good  deal  (for  he  was  natural 
ly  choleric),  and  swore  he  would  suppress,  at  the  risk  of 
his  popularity,  all  tendency  to  Ribbonism,  or  other  illegal 
societies  —  never  dreaming  that  the  sympathy  elicited  from 
his  own  countrymen  in  favor  of  Ireland  had  weakened  his 
authority  in  proportion  as  it  increased  the  spirit  of  oppo 
sition.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  Was  he  to  leave  his  pledge 
unredeemed  ?  It  was  certainly  very  provoking.  On  the 
one  side,  he  heard  some  of  the  greatest  and  wisest  of  the 
land  recommend  caution  in  the  treatment  of  a  people  who 
possessed  the  elements  of  power,  and  could  use  them  if 
they  pleased  ;  and  on  the  other,  the  down-trodden,  idola 
trous  creatures,  lifting  up  their  heads  and  smiling  in  his 
very  face,  while  they  seemed  to  say,  with  the  most  provok- 


26  SHANDY  M'GTJIKE,   OR 

ing  contempt,  "  Put  up,  Sir  John,  put  up  your  silly  sword." 
What  was  to  be  done  in  this  dilemma.  After  exhausting 
his  ingenuity  to  no  purpose,  he  came  down  one  night  to 
the  Carlton  Club,  confessed  himself  defeated,  and  asked 
counsel  of  his  friends.  Who  would  save  his  reputation  ? 
Who  stand  between  him  and  the  danger  ?  After  a  dead 
silence  of  some  minutes,  during  which  every  one  present 
expected  his  neighbor  to  begin,  a  gallant  colonel,  more  re 
nowned  for  religious  intolerance  than  heroic  achievements, 
said,  with  a  bitter  sigh  and  a  sorrowful  countenance,  "I  be 
lieve,  Sir  John,  you  must  shake  off  all  delicacy,  and  try 
the  priests." 

Colonel  Templeton  was  right ;  and  the  advice  was,  after 
a  few  ministerial  blushes,  and  a  few  hints  about  shame  and 
delicacy,  at  length  received  and  adopted. 

But  happily  the  Catholic  bishops  of  Ireland  had  already 
anticipated  the  colonel.  They  had  but  a  few  days  before 
assembled  in  Capel  Street,  Dublin,  and  fulminated  the 
penalties  of  disobedience  to  ecclesiastical  authority  against 
all  under  their  jurisdiction,  who  would  continue  to  be,  or 
afterwards  become  members  of  any  secret  society,  legal  or 
otherwise,  forbidding  the  inferior  clergy,  at  the  same  time, 
to  administer  the  sacraments  even  to  the  dying  man,  if  he 
did  not  first  renounce  all  connection  with  such  confedera 
cies.  This  timely  decree  was  in  a  great  measure  effectual. 
The  four  fifths  of  the  Ribbonmen  submitted,  after  a  short 
struggle,  to  the  authority  of  the  church.  Still  there  was  a 
large  number  who  affected  not  to  perceive  the  wisdom  of 
this  wholesale  suppression  of  their  system,  and  they,  by 
well-directed  manoeuvres,  succeeded  in  keeping  alive  the 
old  dread  of  sedition. 

Such  was  the  state  of  parties  in  the  province  of  Ulster 
when  this  tale  commences.  In  the  county  Donegal,  where 
the  principal  incidents  of  the  story  occurred,  riots  of  a  se 
rious  character  had  been  for  some  time  comparatively  few. 
Still  there  was  a  deep  though  subdued  feeling  of  sectarian 


TEICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  27 

prejudice  lurking  in  the  bosom  of  society  —  fostered  on 
the  one  side  by  a  continual  thirst  for  religious  domination, 
and  on  the  other  by  the  remembrance  of  a  cruel  persecu 
tion.  The  spirit  of  revenge  which  these  pent-up  feelings 
had  engendered,  would  sometimes  manifest  itself  in  the 
strangest  shapes  imaginable.  The  fanciful  manner  in 
which  an  Irishman  often  chooses  to  avenge  his  wrongs  can 
never  be  fairly  appreciated  by  a  foreigner  —  in  fact,  gentle 
reader,  you  require  to  be  of  a  temperament  as  mercurial  as 
his  own,  if  you  promise  yourself  any  pleasure  in  following 
him  through  all  the  wild  vagaries  of  his  fancy.  And  if, 
after  all  your  endeavors,  you  cannot  enjoy  the  tricks  "we 
play  upon  travellers,"  then  you  have  only  to  regret  that 
you  have  not  been  born  in  Ireland.  But  as  there  may  be 
a  difference  of  opinion  on  that  subject,  it  is  better,  per 
haps,  to  say  no  more  about  it. 


28  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,  OB 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    INFOKMEK. 

"  WHY,  Nancy,"  said  Doogan,  as  the  old  woman  entered 
with  the  pitcher  in  her  hand,  followed  by  Frank,  "  why,  ye 
might  hae  singled  an'  doobled  it  sin  ye  gaed  out,  woman  ; 
but  auld  folks  I  see  maun  ha  their  time,  an'  what's  lang  a 
comin'  they  say  is  aye  guid.  So  ye  ha  na  new  news,"  he 
continued,  "sin  I  saw  ye  last  —  hah,  changed  times  wi'  ye, 
Nancy ;  ye  ust  to  ha  a  crack  in  ye." 

"Bad  scran  to  the  word  I  hear,  Mr.  Doogan,  if  yerself 
hasn't  it ;  you  were  tould  all  about  the  robbery  in  the  Gap 
I'll  warrint ;  but  sure  that's  ould  news  now." 

"Robbery!"  ejaculated  the  butcher;  "'am  in  the  first 
place  I  heard  it." 

"Bedad,  that's  quare  enough,"  observed  the  widow,  look 
ing  sharply  at  the  countenance  of  the  little  man ;  "  myself 
thought  the  whole  worl  heerd  it." 

"  Hout,  sure,  I  was  na  here  this  twa  months  —  where 
cud  I  heer  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  then,  there  was,  neighbor,  a  robbery,  an'  a  fine 
brave  handful  he  got  whoiver  tuck  it —  two  hundher  poun's, 
'am  tould,  in  bank  notes." 

"There's  some  ane  suspeckit,  'ill  bail  ye,"  inquired 
Doogan. 

"  There's  plenty  suspected,"  interrupted  Frank,  "but  'am 
thinkin'  they  didn't  hit  on  the  right  one  yit.  Whoever  he 
was,  he  knew  the  Gap  well,  for  his  horse  was  tracked  over 
the  burn  below  the  barrack,  where  no  stranger  'id  venter 
such  a  night  as  that  was." 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  29 

"  It  was  a  terrible  night,  na  doubt,"  muttered  Doogan 
unconsciously. 

"And  well  ye  remimber  it,  friend,  you  were  out,  I'sup- 
pose." 

"  That  I  was,  man,  an'  many  a  lang  mile  fra  Barnes  — 
down  at  Ballycastle,  where  I  gaed  to  buy  a  sheltre  *  for 
the  winter's  ploughin'." 

"  An'  how  did  ye  find  out  the  night  it  happened,  since 
you  niver  heerd  of  it  afore  ?"  demanded  Frank,  looking 
earnestly  in  his  companion's  face. 

"Hugh,  man  !  a  child  cud  tell  ye  that;  sin  ye  say  yer- 
sel'  it  was  an  awfu'  night,  an'  we  ken  there  was  na  but  ane 
o'  that  kind  this  twa  months  and  mair ;  but  hand  over 
the  liquor  here ;  we'll  drink  to  our  better  acquaintance," 
and  Doogan  emptied  his  glass. 

"Fill  none  for  me,"  said  Frank,  as  his  companion  was 
about  to  pour  out  the  liquor ;  "  I  care  little  about  it,  and 
now  less  than  iver." 

Doogan  again  pressed  the  young  man  to  wet  his  lips  at 
least,  but  he  pressed  in  vain.  At  length,  tired  with  en 
treaty,  and  desirous  of  proceeding  on  his  journey  to  the 
fair,  he  tossed  off  the  remainder,  and  rose  to  pay  the  reck 
oning.  As  he  opened  his  pocket-book  to  find  a  piece  of 
silver,  a  sudden  noise,  accompanied  by  a  loud  shout  from 
the  stable,  attracted  his  attention.  Having  handed  a  six 
pence  to  the  landlady,  he  hastened  out  to  ascertain  the 
cause,  and  found,  to  his  astonishment,  "Dick,  the  ome- 
daun"  seated  on  Duncan's  back,  or  rather  on  his  neck,  his 
heels  stuck  fast  to  his  sides,  while  the  poor  animal  kicked 
against  the  stone-wall  behind  him  with  uncontrollable  fury. 
Dick's  love  of  horsemanship  was  known  to  all  the  county 
round.  Many  a  hearty  scold  did  he  get  from  the  various 
customers  who  alighted  at  his  mother's  door  to  have  a 
"  dram  "  before  they  prosecuted  their  journey  through  the 
glen.  Dick  would  watch  closely  till  the  traveller  had  taken 
*  Scotcli  pony. 


30  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,  on 

his  glass,  lighted  his  pipe,  and  was  in  close  conversion  with 
the  widow,  and  then  quietly  unhooked  the  bridle  from  the 
staple  at  the  door,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  up  and 
down,  high-road  and  by-road,  mountain  and  moor,  as  it 
pleased  his  fancy,  until  he  was  completely  satisfied  with 
his  recreation.  Doogan  had  more  than  once  experienced 
such  treatment  at  Dick's  hands,  and  threatened  him  with 
severe  chastisement  if  he  ever  again  took  his  horse  from 
the  door.  For  this  reason,  he  turned  Duncan  into  the  little 
stable,  instead  of  fastening  him  at  the  staple  as  before ;  it 
was  a  sort  of  security,  he  thought,  and  besides,  he  purposed 
staying  longer  than  usual.  Dick,  when  he  entered  the 
stable  and  saw  the  animal  there  right  before  him,  could  not 
for  the  life  of  him  overcome  the  temptation  to  mount. 
He  believed  it  was  no  harm  in  the  world  to  get  upon  his 
back,  when  he  had  no  intention  of  bringing  him  out;  and 
besides,  Doogan  had  not  charged  him  to  the  contrary. 
Dick,  however,  never  got  on  horseback  unarmed.  He 
made  it  an  invariable  rule  never  to  mount  without  the  "jag" 
in  his  heel  —  a  long,  sharp  nail,  bent  spur-fashion,  which 
he  wore  fastened  between  the  shoe  and  the  stocking. 
When  he  found  himself,  therefore,  on  Duncan's  back,  he 
could  not  avoid  using  it,  if  it  were  only  to  try  the  met 
tle  of  the  animal.  The  horse,  unaccustomed  to  such 
weapons,  particularly  in  such  quiet  retirement,  resisted 
the  application  very  indignantly  by  striking  at  the  wall, 
and  Dick,  with  a  sudden  feeling  of  danger,  pressed  his 
heels  still  closer,  and  clung  about  the  hores's  neck  to  pre 
vent  his  falling.  This  continued  application  of  the  steel 
made  the  poor  animal  perfectly  savage. 

"Come  down,  ye  devil,  come  down,"  roared  Doogan,  as 
he  entered  the  stable  in  a  violent  passion,  his  whip  raised 
to  threaten  Dick,  but  afraid  to  venture  near  the  infuriated 
beast. 

"  Hould  him,"  cried  Dick,  "  hould   him,  or  he'll  smash 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  31 

"  Come  doon,  ye  villain,"  screamed  Doogan,  "  or  I'll 
brack  a'  the  banes  in  yer  body ;  come  doon  this  minit." 

" I  can't,  I  tell  ye,"  muttered  the  poor  omedaun,  " I  can't; 
sure  the  jag's  in  him,  an'  I  can't  get  it  out.  O,  O,  he'll 
spill  me  under  his  feet  —  he'll  smash  me  to  dugghins  "  (to 
pieces). 

"  Run  an'  catch  him,"  cried  the  terrified  old  woman, 
"  run,  Mr.  Doogan,  or  he'll  kill  the  poor  witless  crathur." 

"  O,  Christians,  dear,  is  there  no  one  to  save  me ! "  ejacu 
lated  Dick,  now  almost  breathless  from  excitement,  "  O, 
'am  done,  'am  done ;  O,  by  the  hoky,  'am  kilt ;  "  and  as  he 
muttered  this  last  sentence,  the  horse  threw  him,  by  a  sud 
den  jerk,  from  his  neck  into  the  manger. 

Doogan  made  a  rush  at  Dick,  and  had  got  him  by  the  neck 
with  his  left  hand,  while  the  right,  wielding  the  heavy- 
leaded  whip,  was  descending  with  terrible  force  on  the 
head  of  the  culprit,  and  very  probably  would  have  in 
flicted  a  mortal  blow,  for  the  man  was  exasperated  to  mad 
ness,  when  Frank  Devlin  arrested  the  arm,  and  Dick  es 
caped  from  the  stable,  muttering  as  he  went,  "  Hah,  ha, 
take  that,  old  dry  bones  —  hah,  you  wadn't  stan',  ould  lazy 
bones,  deil's  cure  to  ye,  deil's  cure  to  ye  —  ye  wadn't  be 
aisy." 

As  soon  as  matters  were  adjusted,  Doogan  mounted  his 
horse,  and  accompanied  as  before,  proceeded  on  his  jour 
ney.  As  he  turned  from  the  house,  he  shook  his  clinched 
fist  at  Dick,  who  stood  at  a  respectful  distance,  and  swore 
if  he  ever  caught  him  again  within  arm's  length  he'd  be 
the  death  of  him. 

We  have  been  compelled  to  notice  this  trifling  incident, 
not  merely  because  it  really  occurred,  but  because  it  gave 
rise  to  important  consequences  ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that 
if  Duncan  had  not  attracted  the  attention  of  his  master  at 
that  particular  moment,  this  story  never  would  have  been 
written  ;  and  hence  it  is,  that  the  heels  of  a  horse  may 
sometimes  create  a  greater  noise  iu  the  world  than  mem- 


32  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OB 

bers  of  a  far  higher  class  of  animals,  and  of  much  loftier 
pretensions.  But  on  we  to  our  theme,  as  Babington  Ma- 
caulay  would  say,  instead  of  the  more  elegant  expression  of 
" revenons  au  moutons" 

Nancy  Kelly,  on  her  return  to  the  cabin,  found  some 
thing  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  lying  on  the  floor,  which  in 
her  hurry  to  the  scene  of  Dick's  frolic  she  had  passed  un 
observed. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  said  the  old  woman,  picking  it  up,  "  what  can 
this  be  ?  Gahun  to' the  bit,  if  it  isn't  a  letther,  an'  a  purty 
letther  too,  so  it  is  —  a  letther  for  some  i'  the  quality,  I'll 
warrint.  Well,  it  was  the  butcher  drapped  it,  that's  sartin, 
an'  I'll  keep  it  safe  till  he  comes  back  in  the  evenin'." 

As  she  was  about  to  consign  it  to  a  place  of  safety,  the 
door  was  suddenly  darkened,  and  another  customer  entered 
the  "  shebeen ; "  it  was  Shandy  M'Guire,  or,  as  he  was 
sometimes  called,  Shandy  the  Scripturian.  Every  one  knew 
Shandy.  He  was,  indeed,  a  universal  favorite,  full  of  dry 
humor,  and  fond  of  "  devilment  in  every  shape,"  though 
he  never  permitted  a  single  feature  of  his  face  to  betray 
the  pleasurable  emotions  he  experienced.  He  visited  every 
fair  and  market,  wake  and  wedding,  christening  and  burial, 
for  twenty  miles  round.  He  was  master  of  ceremonies  at 
wakes,  chief  mourner  at  funerals,  sang  his  own  songs, 
cracked  his  own  jokes  at  weddings,  and  was  sponsor  at 
the  christenings  for  more  children  than  any  other  man  in 
the  parish.  He  could  recite  whole  pages  of  Pastorini,  and 
as  for  Columbkill's  prophecies,  he  had  them  all  at  his  fin 
gers'  ends.  Shandy  was  now  about  thirty-five  years  of 
age,  far  below  the  middle  size,  but  thick-set,  and  of  a  very 
staid  and  solemn  figure.  His  hair  was  black,  long,  and 
curly,  and  his  face  long,  sallow,  and  demure  as  that  of  a 
grand  vizier.  His  dress,  which  we  must  not  forget,  was 
rather  old-fashioned  for  a  man  of  his  years  and  pursuits. 
His  stockings  were  gray,  over  which  a  black  velvet  shorts 
descended  to  the  calf  of  the  leg,  and  were  there  confined 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  33 

by  a  respectable  bunch  of  green  ribbons.  His  coat,  of  a 
brown  rusty  black,  was  one  of  the  swallow-tailed  species, 
reaching  down  almost  to  the  ankles,  where  the  skirts  oscil 
lated  from  side  to  side,  with  a  velocity  varying  directly  as 
the  moving  body  within.  Imagine,  therefore,  gentle  read 
er,  that  you  see  this  same  personage  moving  under  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  his  arms  to  the  elbows  thrust  into  his  coat 
pockets,  and  strutting  down  with  a  solemn  air,  from  the 
king's  high-road  to  Nancy  Kelly's  "  shebeen,"  and  you  will 
*be  introduced  with  all  the  formality  necessary  for  a  first 
introduction,  to  the  scripturian  of  the  parish,  the  hero  of 
these  pages,  and  one  of  the  drollest  and  best-natured  Irish 
men  from  Horn-head  to  Cape  Clear. 

"  The  top  i'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Mr.  M'Guire,"  said  the 
widow,  greeting  him  blithely,  as  he  made  his  appearance. 

"  The  same  to  you,  neighbor,"  he  replied,  taking  his  seat 
at  the  fire  without  ceremony. 

"  Yer  boun'  for  the  fair  ?  but  sure  I  needn't  ax  you." 

"Ay,  I  was  thinkin'  on  that;  but  the  mornin's  young 
yet,  and  the  fair  long  a'  gatherin'.  I  see  ye  have  yer  bunch  * 
for  the  market.  There's  but  a  poor  price  for  it,  I'm  tould." 

"  Poor  enough,  Shandy ;  dear  knows  it's  hard  for  poor 
crathurs  to  live  that  hasn't  any  thing  but  the  grain  i'  the 
flax  to  make  a  penny  iv.  It's  wonderful  to  think  what  the 
world's  comin'  to.  I  mind  whin  I  us't  to  get  four  shillings 
a  spangle  for't,  ay,  an'  the  buyers  kempin  to  get  it  at  that ; 
an'  now  we  can't  scarcely  get  two  thirteens.  But  sure  we 
ought  to  be  thankful,  whatever  comes." 

"Well,  Nancy,"  observed  Shandy,  "if  we  had  the  par 
liament  yit,  it's  not  that  way  ye'd  be ;  ould  Drimindhu  f 
give  us  many  a  bit  an'  sup  we'll  never  get  again.  Bad  luck 
to  the  villains  that  tuck  her  away  from  the  childher,  an' 
them  cry  in'  after  her  for  the  drap  i'  milk,  the  creathurs." 

"Och,  augh!  it's  me  that  knows  that,"  said  the  widow, 

*  Bunch  of  yarns,      f  Irish  Parliament —  literally,  black  cow. 
3 


34  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

in  a  lachrymose  tone,  "  it's  the  fine  times  we  had  iv  it  then, 
plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  an'  the  world  flowin'  on  us.  But, 
sure  you  wur  only  a  wee  cheel  (little  boy)  when  that  hap 
pened —  not  as  big  as  the  dresser  there;  poor  creathur, 
ye  didn't  know  what  you  were  losin' ;  but  I  niver  cud  find 
out,"  she  added,  *"  how  they  got  Drimindlm  away." 

"  Faith,  dear,"  replied  Shandy,  "  they  stole  her  dacently 
—  they  kidnapped  her  —  it's  a  way  they  have." 

"  Kidnapped !  What's  that,  Shandy  ?  " 

"Why,  they  pit  a  plasther  on  her  mouth,  to  keep  her 
from  routin',  just  the  way  they  steal  people  to  be  insected 
by  the  docthers ;  and  bad  win'  to  them,  they  insected  her 
too  —  cut  her  up  in  pieces,  so  they  did." 

"But  isn't  that  murdher  an'  robbery?" 

"  Pooh,  to  be  sure  it  is ;  but  then,  you  know,  the  mur 
dher  was  done  in  a  genteel  way ;  them  that  did  it  had  the 
science,  Nancy." 

"  Well,  well,  that's  quare  enough ;  but  I  wondher  she 
was  let  away  so  easy  ?  " 

"Let  away,"  repeated  Shandy  ;  "  O,  try  them  for  that ; 
didn't  they  put  a  plasther,  I'm  tellin'  ye,  on- the  eyes  of 
them  that  had  the  care  av  her.  De  ye  know  who  ye're 
spakin'  av  !  Wasn't  it  the  sassenaghs  done  it?  And  isn't 
the  marks  that  same  plasther  left  on  them  to  the  fore  yet, 
to  thremsels  be  tould." 

"  Marks  ! "  ejaculated  Nancy,  incredulously ;  "  hout,  sure 
it's  over  twinty  years  ago." 

"  Faith,  an'  if  it  was  fifty,  it's  true  enough.  They  say 
their  childher  have  it  on  them,  and  that  they  can  tell  the 
differ'  someway  'atween  them  an'  ither  people  when  they 
go  to  parliament." 

"  Well,  goodness  be  about  iz,  if  that  desn't  bate  all ;  ah, 
but  yer  only  jokin' now,  maybe,  for  that  same's  what  yer 
best*  at?" 

"  Jokin' !  "  he  repeated  again  ;  "  why,  may  I  be  lord  chan 
cellor  afore  I'm  a  year  oulder,  if  it  isn't  as  true  as  I'm  tellin' 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.    "  35 

it  to  ye.  There's  not  one  i'  their  descendants  that's  not 
known  in  England,  as  well  as  a  bad  halfpenny." 

"  Well,  hould  yer  tongue  now  for  a  rninit,"  and  the  old 
woman  spoke  as  if  she  had  been  impatient  of  delay  in  tell 
ing  her  secret ;  "  I've  somethin'  to  show  ye.  Doogan,  the 
butcher,  was  here  a  while  ago,  him  an'  young  Frank,  of 
Oughadeena." 

Here  Dick  interrupted  his  mother,  to  tell  Shandy  of  his 
morning's  ride,  holding  up  the  spur  between  his  finger  and 
thumb,  and  laughing  at  the  sport  it  occasioned  ;  but  the 
widow  stopped  him  as  he  began.  "  Away  out  i'  that,"  she 
said,  taking  the  broom  in  her  hand,  "away,  an'  don't  be 
deevin'  iz  with  yer  nonsense ;  go  out  and  look  afther  the 
sheep,  where  ye  ought  to  be,  and  not  here  listenin'  to  peo 
ple  talkin' —  away  now,  I  tell  ye!"  and  poor  Dick  slunk 
out,  muttering  his  displeasure.  The  widow  resumed. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  try  ye,  Shandy ;  I'm  tould  yer  a  great 
scholar." 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  with  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile, 
which,  indeed,  even  on  the  most  exciting  occasions  he  was 
never  known  to  exceed  ;  "  well,  everything  a  body  hears 
isn't  true,  for  all  that." 

"  O,  but  the  world  says  ye  ir." 

"  Pooh,  half  i'  the  world  niver  heard  i'  me  yit,  woman." 

"  They  say  it's  past  believin'  what  larnin'  ye  have." 

"Indeed,  then,  I  can't  say,  nor  I  won't  say  it,  Nancy ; 
but  I  have  a  great  leanin'  to  pelite  litherathur." 

"  You  an'  Bob  Craig  had  a  discoorse  down  in  Peggy 
Sharkey's,  on  Sunday  last,  'am  tould,"  said  the  widow,  in 
quiringly. 

"  Pugh ! "  muttered  Shandy,  in  a  low,  stealthy,  contemp 
tuous  tone,  "  pugh  !  Bob  Craig;  hout  woman,  that  was 
only  child's  play  — jist  givin'  him  an  insight  into  what  he 
might  expect;  och,  I  wasn't  hard  on  him  ;  no,  no,  the  cra- 
thur,  I  give  it  to  him  as  easy  as  I  could.  But  I  wondher, 
neighbor,"  he  continued,  throwing  himself  back  in  the  chair, 


36  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

and  speaking  with  more  dignity,  "  I  wondher  ye'd  be  after 
evnin'  me  to  Bob  Craig,  to  sich  a  fellow  as  that.  If  he  was 
a  minister,  or  even  a  Bible  reader,  ye  might  be  talkin'.  He 
hasn't  dived  as  deep  into  the  larnin'  as  'Goodsoul '  yet ;  an' 
I  surely  give  him  as  much  as  ought  to  do  him  for  a  month 
i'  Sundays  to  come.  When  a  man  has  genies,  Mrs.  Kelly, 
it  'ill  show  itself,  though  I  oughtn't  to  praise  myself.  Well, 
as  for  '  Goodsoul,'  I  can't  say  but  he  done  middlin'  at  the 
scriptur',  sich  as  he  had  ;  that's,  ye  know,  in  quotin'  what  he 
didn't  understan'  a  traneen  about;  but  whin  I  tuck  him  in 
the  Hay  brew,  maybe  I  didn't  bag  him  while  ye'd  be  fillin' 
a  glass.  Ay,  it's  all  right  enough,  whin  ye  let  them  tear 
away  at  the  Bible,  repeatin'  it  over  like  parrots ;  but  whin 
ye  ask  them  what  it  manes,  or  whin  ye  bring  them  into 
the  deep  languages,  ye'll  smother  them  all  at  once." 

"An'  what's  the  Haybrew,  Mr.  M'Guire?"  inquired 
Nancy,  her  admiration  for  the  scripturian  evidently  increas 
ing. 

"What  is  it?  och,  och,  poor  woman,"  he  replied,  "  it's 
good  for  ye,  ye  know  little  about  it." 

"Why  —  is  there  any  harm  in  knowin'  it?" 

"  Harm  —  well  no,  no  harm,  set  in  case  you  cud  bear  it ; 
but  it's  not  every  brain  cud  stan'  it.  I'll  tell  you  what  it 
is,  Nancy,  it  set  sore  enough  on  myself  to  master  it — jist 
nick  an'  go  —  an'  if  I  wusn't  one  out  av  a  thousand,  it's 
maybe  mad  through  the  mountains  I'd  be  wanderin';  och, 
the  Haybrew's  a  dangerous  thing  to  have  any  dealin's 
with,  even  for  larned  people  —  let  alone  you,  or  the  likes 
o'  ye." 

"  An'  what  is  it  at  all  ?  "  inquired  the  widow,  earnestly, 
rolling  up  her  arms  in  her  apron,  and  looking  steadfastly 
in  his  face ;  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  the  dead  langige,"  replied  Shandy. 

"  The  dead  langige  ;  humph  !  an'  was  it  in  that  ye  sacked 
the  minister?" 

"Well,  so  they  say,"  and  here  he  gave  a  very  self-com 
placent  shadow  of  a  smile. 


TEICKS   UPON  TKAVELLEES.  37 

"  An'  what  might  it  be  like  ?  "  said  Nancy,  drawing  up 
her  chair  nearer  to  her  friend,  for  her  curiosity  was  now 
considerably  excited. 

"  Fegs,  it's  like  nothin'  I  know,  Nancy,  if  it  isn't  yerself." 

"Like  me?" 

"  Ay,  jist  like  you,  an'  no  discredit  it's  to  you,  either,  to 
be  like  it,  seein'  there's  no  Protestan'  goiri'  cud  stand  three 
words  av  it.  I'd  like  to  hear  them  tell  me  what's  the 
manin'  of  Urim  and  Thummim." 

"  Well  sure,  'm  oblidged,  Mr.  M'Guire,  but  how  is  it  like 
me?" 

"  Why,  then,  Nancy,  I'll  tell  ye  ;  it's  old  an'  full  o'  wrin 
kles  and  spots,  like  one  that  has  had  the  smallpox."  The 
widow  was  taken  completely  by  surprise. 

"Musha  bad  luck  to  yer  imperence,  Shandy,"  she  retort 
ed,  tying  the  ribbons  of  her  cap  under  her  chin  still  tighter, 
and  moving  back  her  chair,  "bad  luck  to  yer  imperence,  but 
it's  well  come  up  with  ye.  Hah  !  that's  not  bad,  to  be  sure ; 
an'  wusn't  I  young  once,  young  enough  when  yer  ould  un 
cle,  lame  Mickey,  us't  to  be  afther  me  —  when  I  wudn't 
look  at  the  same  side  o'  the  road  with  him  ;  ay,  d'ye  hear 
that,  Mr.  M'Guire ;  I  was  young  once,  'am  thinkin'." 

"  O !  begorra,  an'  so  was  that  same  'am  talkin'  av,"  re 
plied  he,  with  little  attention  to  the  old  woman's  anger; 
"  but  like  yerself,  Nancy,  it's  a  long  time  ago  ;  an'  by  the 
powers  it's  like  ye  more  ways  than  one,  for  it  was  iver 
contrary  and  hard  to  manage,  an'  then  there  was  so  many 
turns  and  twists  in  it,  an'  sich  a  deludher — bad  cass  to  me 
if  iver  I  see  it,  but  I  be  thinkin'  iv  the  times  long  ago,  after 
Barney  died,  when  Ned  Doherty  us't  to  be  sendin'  me  up 
to  ye  with  the  tokens." 

"  Whisht,  ye  divil!"  interrupted  Nancy,  rising  up  and 
running  to  the  dresser,  "  whisht  this  minit,  or  'all  throw 
the  dishcloth  at  ye ;  yer  niver  at  aise,  but  whin  yer  at  some 
divilment.  It's  fitter  ye'd  be  makin'  yer  sowl,  than  clav- 
erin'  about  them  things." 


38  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OB 

Again  the  widow  resumed  her  seat,  and  remonstrated 
with  her  friend  on  the  folly  of  his  ways.  She  assured  him 
that  such  reminiscences  were  by  no  means  agreeable  to 
her.  She  was  now  old  and  alone  in  the  world,  and  had 
enough  to  perplex  her  without  recurring  to  old  stories. 

"Now,"  she  added,  "give  yer  tongue  a  holiday,  an 
listen  to  me  for  a  minit.  I  foun'  something  an'  'ill  wudger 
ye  don't  guess  what  it  is." 

But  Shandy  was  determined  to  indulge  his  humor  at 
her  expense,  knowing  well  the  secret,  if  there  really  was 
one,  would  come  out  the  sooner  the  more  he  appeared  in 
different  about  it. 

"  Maybe,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  with  a  very  demure 
countenance,  in  which  not  a  single  sign  of  emotion  was 
perceptible,  "faith,  maybe  it  was  the  ring  you  lost  long 
ago." 

"  What  ring  are  ye  ravin'  about?" 

"  Why,  don't  ye  mind  the  ring  I  brought  ye  from  Ned, 
an'  ye  lost  it  nixt  night  comin'  home  from  the  market  ?  " 

"  Botheration  to  me,  but  '11  take  the  tongs  to  ye,  if  ye 
don't  hould  yer  tongue,"  said  Nancy,  sharply,  affecting  at 
the  same  time  to  be  much  annoyed  by  his  raillery ;  u  in 
deed,  then,  it's  well  worth  yer  while  to  upcast  that,  so  it  is, 
when  I  cud  buy  a  score  i'  them  on  the  standins  for  a 
testher  apiece ;  an'  bad  manners  to  ye,  ye  desavin'  thief \ 
ye  tould  me  it  was  wirgin  goold,  so  ye  did,  an'  it  cost  me 
more  glasses  nor  you  an'  it  was  worth.  It's  a  thing  I  niver 
had  afore,  I  tell  ye,"  she  added,  raising  her  voice,  as  if  her 
auditor  was  deaf,  "  now  d'ye  hear  that  ?  " 

"  O>  by  jingo,"  said  Shandy,  rubbing  his  nose  with  his 
forefinger  very  contemplatively,  "  it  'id  be  hard  to  guess 
that,  —  maybe  it  might  be  religion?  he  added,  looking  up 
very  innocently  in  the  anxious  face  of  the  widow.  "  Troth, 
'ill  bait  ye  it  was,  eh  !  'am  tould  it's  goin'  about  very  plenty 
these  times.  It's  given  at  first  cost  at  the  prayer  meetin's. 
People  say,  ould  '  cut  the  rope,'  Billy  Armstrong,  got  re- 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  39 

'ligion  the  other  day  at  a  meetiii'  while  ye'd  say  Jack  Rob- 
ison.  By  the  pothooks,  Nancy,  ye  were  lucky  if  ye  got 
that;  ye'll  be  a  saint  in  less  than  no  time." 

"Paugh!"  ejaculated  Nancy,  "there's  no  use  to  think 
av  stoppin'  ye;  ivery  clift  (fool)  must  have  his  way."  She 
rose  from  her  seat,  and  filling  a  glass  at  the  dresser,  handed 
it  to  Shandy.  "Here,"  she  muttered  in  a  peevish,  dis 
satisfied  tone,  as  if  the  liquor  was  the  last  remedy,  "here, 
take  this,  an'  see  will  it  stop  yer  mouth,  ye  graceless  neer- 
do-weel ;  but  sure  yer  tongue's  no  scandal  any  way,  for  it's 
many  a  time  ye  made  free  with  yer  own  grandmother's 
bones  in  the  clay,  when  ye  could  squeeze  a  joke  out  i' 
them." 

Shandy  took  the  glass  from  her  hand  with  a  very  care 
less  air,  and  holding  it  up  between  him  and  the  light, 
said,  after  a  moment's  examination,  "  Humph !  I  see  it's 
wathered." 

"  Wathered  !  What  d'ye  mane,  M'Guire  ?  d'ye  intend  to 
throw  a  slur  on  my  honesty?"  demanded  the  hostess, 
rather  sharply;  for  on  that  point  she  was  very  sensitive. 

"  Oh,  gohans  to  the  honester  woman  in  the  kingdom,'' 
replied  her  tormentor.  "  I  was  manin'  only  what  we  call 
the  <  mollyficashein,'  jist  a  wee  drap  in  the  keg  to  keep  the 
evil  spirit  out  av  it.  Sure  I  know  it's  not  chatin'  ye'd  be, 
Nancy ;  och,  no,  it  'id  be  ill  my  common  to  say  that,  but  ye 
put  only  the  innocent  wather  in  it  to  purvent  it  doin'  harm 
these  bad  times ;  and  in  troth,  Nancy,  it  was  well  con- 
sithered  av  ye,  it's  the  truth  'am  sayin',"  and  having  bowed 
to  the  good  old  dame,  he  emptied  the  glass.  "Well,  now, 
Mrs.  Kelly,"  he  resumed,  having  wiped  his  lips,  and  handed 
back  the  glass,  "well,  what  was  that  you  were  goin'  to 
tell  me?" 

"Look  at  that,"  was  the  reply,  producing  the  letter, 
"an'  let  iz  hear  what  yer  larnin'  can  make  av  it.  What 
name's  on  it  ?  " 

The  missive  bore  the  following  superscription:  — 


40  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

"  To  Wm.  Thomas  Joice,  Esq.,  Lieutenant  of  Revenue 
Police,  Donegal." 

"  Humph  !"  said  Shandy,  shaking  his  head  with  the  air 
of  a  mandarin,  and  looking  furtively  at  his  companion, 
"  bedad,  I  don't  much  like  the  looks  av  it.  I'll  wudger  ye 
a  button  it's  an  informashin.  De'il  a  less  it  is,  'am  a'most 
sure.  It's  no  harm  to  see,  for  look,  it's  not  saled ;  there's 
only  a  thread  on  it;  'ill  open  it  —  hout,  woman!  niver  fash 
yourself;  it's  no  harm  I  tell  ye  — -  now  can't  ye  have  some 
sense,  and  let  me  see  what  it's  all  about  —  sure  '11  fix  it  up 
again  as  well  as  iver." 

After  a  good  deal  of  persuasion  (for  the  old  woman  had 
a  deep  sense  of  the  impropriety  of  the  act),  he  at  length 
was  permitted  to  take  the  letter  from  the  envelope  care 
fully,  and  read  it.  It  turned  out  as  Shandy  suspected,  to 
be  an  information  lodged  by  Doogan  the  butcher  before  the 
officer  in  charge  of  the  party  of  police  stationed  at  Stran- 
orlan.  Doogan  overheard  in  the  house  where  he  had  slept 
the  night  before  the  conversation  that  passed  between  his 
landlord  and  the  smugglers;  he  heard  the  name  of  Lough 
Devenish  frequently  repeated  ;  the  quantity  sold,  and  the 
hour  of  the  night  when  it  might  be  expected.  Next  morn 
ing,  long  before  daybreak,  he  arose  and  set  out  for  the 
market.  The  Revenue  Police  Barrack  was  situate  on  the 
road-side,  at  some  distance  from  Stranorlan,  so  that  owing 
to  its  position,  and  the  darkness  of  the  night,  Doogan  had 
little  fear  of  being  detected.  Having  passed  the  sentry,  he 
was  admitted  to  the  lieutenant's  sleeping  apartment.  The 
officer  at  once  recognized  his  visitor,  and  pointed  to  a  chair 
beside  his  bed.  The  information  was  given  agreeably  to 
the  knowledge  he  had  obtained,  and  a  request  made  that 
Joice,  the  lieutenant  of  the  Donegal  party,  would  be 
invited  to  come  over  and  make  the  seizure,  as  otherwise 
suspicion  would  attach  to  him  (Doogan) — having  slept  at 
the  house  where  the  liquor  was  to  be  conveyed,  and  where 
it  was  sold,  and  having  to  pass  the  Barrack  on  his  way  to 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  41 

the  fair  at  so  early  an  hour.  These  reasons  seemed  to 
satisfy  the  officer,  and  he  accordingly,  after  a  few  minutes' 
delay,  gave  the  desired  letter  to  Doogan,  telling  him  at  the 
same  time  that  Joice  would  pay  him  his  fees  as  soon  after 
the  seizure  as  possible.  Doogan  placed  the  letter,  with 
a  number  of  other  papers,  in  his  pocket-book,  and  again 
muffling  up  his  face  with  the  cape  of  his  great-coat  from 
the  gaze  of  the  sentry,  stole  noiselessly  away,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  was  soon  among  the  wilds  of  Barnesmore.  The 
night  was  pitchy  dark  —  not  a  single  star  to  be  seen  in  the 
whole  wide  expanse  of  the  heavens,  and  yet  so  cold  and 
calm  that  the  feeling  of  desolation  which  the  scene,  even 
in  midday,  was  calculated  to  produce,  became  doubly  in 
creased  by  the  death-like  stillness  that  prevailed.  As  the 
informer  wended  his  way  through  the  dismal  gorge  of  the 
Gap,  the  silence  was  sometimes  broken  by  the  whistle  of 
the  snipe  or  the  peeweet,  disturbed  from  its  resting-place 
by  the  horse's  tread  ;  and  the  shrill  noise  ran  and  rang 
along  the  rocks  and  caverns  on  either  side,  waking  its 
thousand  echoes  as  it  went.  Doogan  rode  on,  unseen  by 
mortal  eye,  enveloped  in  darkness,  and  communing  with 
his  own  thoughts,  darker  and  gloomier  still.  God  was 
there  too  —  but  he  was  nnseen,  unfelt,  and  unrecognized. 
He  had  now  reached  the  narrowest  part  of  the  ravine,  and 
was  turning  round  an  angle  formed  by  a  rock  that  rose  up 
almost  perpendicularly  from  the  edge  of  the  road,  when 
the  horse,  feeling  himself  unrestrained  by  the  bridle,  with 
a  sudden  movement  darted  down  by  the  side  of  a  little 
stream  in  the  opposite  direction,  which  found  its  way  some 
distance  among  the  chasms,  and  had  nearly  precipitated 
his  rider  ere  he  could  gather  up  the  reins  and  bring  him 
again  under  control. 

"  Ila,  haugh  !  "  mutterd  the  butcher,  with  clinched  teeth, 
and  reining  in  the  wayward  animal  with  his  left  hand, 
while  he  struck  him  with  the  heavy-leaded  whip  he  held 
in  his  right,  "  devil  skin  ye  for  an  uncannie  brute !  what 


42  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR, 

gars  ye  ga  that  gate.  Ha,  ha ! "  he  ejaculated  again,  re 
peating  the  blows  on  the  head  and  sides  of  the  unfortunate 
animal,  "  hah,  but  ye  ha  a  lang  memory ;  if  ye  ance  gaed 
there,  maun  ye  aye  go ;  by  a'  that's  guid  ye'd  pu'  a  halter 
roun'  my  neck,  if  ye  warna  weel  guided  ;"  and  having  thus 
vented  his  displeasure,  he  regained  the  road,  and  proceeded 
at  a  somewhat  quicker  pace  on  his  journey.  The  reader 
is  already  aware  of  the  meeting  between  him  and  Frank 
Devlin,  "before  they  reached  Nancy  Kelly's  of  the  "  Gap." 

When  Shandy,  after  many  hums  and  hahs,  had  finished 
reading  the  letter,  Nancy  exclaimed,  — 

"That's  Jemmy  Gallinagh's  liquor  he  informed  on,  as 
sure  as  rny  name's  Kelly.  He  come  down  here  last  night 
from  Lough  Devnish,  an'  tould  me  all  about  it ;  he  was  to 
be  in  Jim  McCormack's  i'  Stranolan,  at  ten  o'clock  the 
morrow  night,  with  two  ten-gallon  kegs.  Och,"  she  added, 
clapping  her  hands  together,  "  och,  weans  dear ;  but  this  is 
the  quare  world,  anyway,  we're  livin'  in.  Bad  luck  to  his 
black  heart;  sure  I  knew  the  dirty  drap  was  in  him;  and 
look,  Shandy,  as  sure  as  there's  salt  in  the  sea,  he  knows 
somethin'  about  the  robbery  at  the  ould  barrack ;  when 
Frank  was  tellin'  him  about  it  a  while  ago,  I  knew  the 
thievery  in  his  face." 

"  Well,  take  time,  take  time,  neighbor,  the  longest  lane 
has  a  turn  in't  —  we'll  find  him  out ; "  and  Shandy  seemed, 
even  when  he  spoke,  to  be  occupied  with  some  interesting 
consideration. 

"  But  what  '11  we  do,"  inquired  Nancy,  with  much  eager 
ness  ;  "  will  I  send  Dick  up  to  Lough  Devnish,  an'  Jemmy 
'11  be  here  in  agiify?" 

"  Patience,  woman,  patience,"  calmly  observed  Shandy, 
"is  often  better  than  haste.  Now  hearken,  and  tell  me 
who  bought  the  last  'load'  *  from  Jemmy  Gallinagh?" 

"  The  agent's  baillie,  Misther  Coulson ;  but  he  said  it 

*  Two  casks  of  liquor. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  43 

wusn't  for  the  recther,  but  himself.  Still,  'am  thinkin'  his 
reverence  got  a  taste  av  it,  or  the  baillie  wudn't  be  so  keen 
at  denyin',  when  nobody  was  doubtin'  him." 

"  Stnp  now,  can't  ye,  woman,  and  listen  to  me ;  where 
was  it  left  ?  " 

"  At  the  porther's  lodge,  av  coorse  —  they  were  all  in 
bed  at  the  time  in  the  big  house." 

"Very  well,"  said  Shandy,  perfectly  satisfied,  "that  'ill 
do  ;"  and  he  put  the  letter  into  his  capacious  coat  pocket. 

"  What  'ir  ye  doin',"  demanded  the  old  woman,  as  she 
saw  the  letter  disappear,  and  her  companion  rising  to 
leave.  "  Sure,  he'll  be  here  lookin'  afther  it." 

"  He  won't,  I  tell  ye;  I'll  manage  that  part — where's 
Dick?" 

"  He's  outside  there  — d'ye  want  him  ?  " 

"  Yis,  I  want  him  to  go  with  me  to  the  fair  —  not  a  wrord 
now,"  as  the  widow  was  about  to  remonstrate,  "  he  must 
go  —  I'll  take  care  av  him  ;  and  now,  afore  I  lave  ye,  re- 
mimber,  Nancy,  this  is  a  public  day,  an'  mony  a  cronie  'ill 
be  makin'  shanahis  *  with  ye ;  so  don't  be  talkin'  only  as 
little  as  ye  can,  for  too  much  av  it's  good  for  neather  sowl 
or  body.  And  mind  me,  auld  friend,  if  ye  find  yerself 
hard  run  —  if  ye  think  ye  can't  keep  this  secret  —  I  rnane 
if  it  lies  too  heavy  on  yer  heart,  jist  go  down  there  an'  tell 
it  to  the  bedpost,  or  any  thing  i'  that  kind  'ill  do  in  a  pinch  ; 
for  I  know  it's  out  it'll  come,  some  way  or  other.  So  good- 
mornin'  to  ye." 

Our  hero  and  his  companion  Dick  arrived  at  the  village 
of  Donegal  before  half  the  people  had  assembled,  and  long 
before  the  butchers  gathered  in  to  the  cattle-market.  Dur 
ing  the  walk  Shandy  had  completely  won  the  affection 
and  attachment  of  his  fellow-traveller.  Dick  was  in  rap 
tures  with  him,  and  swore  "  he'd  do  any  thing  in  the  wide 
world,  barrm'  murdher,  to  plaze  him."  Shandy,  having 

*  Old  stories  about  relationships. 


44  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

procured  writing  materials  at  a  friend's  house,  took  from 
his  pocket  the  lost  letter,  and  surveyed  it  for  some  time 
with  caution  and  care.  He  then  laid  it  before  him,  and 
commenced  another,  referring  to  the  information,  from 
time  to  time,  as  he  proceeded.  When  he  had  finished  his 
task,  he  folded  the  new  letter,  placed  it  under  the  same 
envelope  and  thread  which  secured  the  old,  and  handed  it 
to  Dick,  accompanying  the  act  with  the  necessary  instruc 
tions. 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  45 


CHAPTER    IV. 

IN  WHICH  IT  IS  MADE  TO  APPEAR  THAT  SAINTS  AND  SIN 
NERS  MAY  BE  UNITED  TOGETHER  IN  A  COMMON  BROTH 
ERHOOD  BY  THE  AID  OF  RELIGION. 

THE  reverend  gentleman  to  whom  allusion  is  made  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  was  the  celebrated  Baxter  Cant- 
well,  A.  M.,  ex  S.  F.  C.  D.,  and  rector  of  the  parish  of 
Donegal.  His  father,  a  native  of  Shropshire,  had  emi 
grated  to  Ireland  in  the  year  1793,  and  shortly  after, 
through  the  interest  of  the  Beresford  family,  obtained  the 
office  of  vicar-choral  in  the  cathedral  of  Cashel.  His  son 
Baxter,  in  the  second  year  following,  entered  Trinity  Col 
lege  as  sizar,  and  worked  his  way,  by  remarkable  industry, 
aided  by  a  considerable  share  of  talent,  to  the  sub-librari- 
anship  of  the  college,  with  the  degree  of  A.  M.,  a  salary 
of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  a  suit  of  apartments.  After  a 
few  years  spent  in  this  situation,  made  very  lucrative  by  a 
number  of  casualties  and  perquisites  then  connected  with 
the  office,  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  his  ordination  and 
appointment  to  the  high  school  of  Kilkenny,  vacant  by  the 
demise  of  the  amiable  and  accomplished  Dr.  Chatworth 
Johnston.  It  was  here  Mr.  Cantwell  earned  for  himself, 
by  his  literary  labors  —  chiefly  remarkable  for  their  in 
tolerant,  persecuting  spirit  —  the  enviable  sobriquet  of 
"Baxter  Trueblue."  Finding,  however,  the  field  of  his 
labors  too  circumscribed  in  Kilkenny,  he  solicited  a  living 
in  the  North,  where  he  hoped  to  see  his  extraordinary  zeal 
in  the  cause  of  Protestantism  more  effective  and  better 


46  SHAXDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

appreciated,  and  was,  in  due  time,  appointed  to  the  vicar 
age  of  Donegal,  where  he  now  resided.  His  glebe  was 
called  the  "  Moor,"  situate  on  a  little  eminence,  almost  sur 
rounded  by  water,  and  distant  but  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  the  village. 

It  was  the  eve  of  the  October  fair.  The  family  at  the 
Moor  was  comfortably  seated  round  the  tire  in  the  draw 
ing-room.  The  rector  himself,  reclining  in  his  easy-chair, 
his  feet  resting  on  a  cushion  before  the  fender,  was  occu 
pied  in  the  agreeable  task  of  picking  his  teeth  after  a 
sumptuous  dinner.  He  was  very  happy  at  that  moment. 
Happy  to  think  he  had  a  thousand  a  year  from  his  parish, 
to  furnish  the  luxuries  of  his  table ;  and  still  more  happy, 
when  he  reflected  that  his  only  son  Archibald,  then  at  his 
elbow,  was  already  provided  for,  in  the  influential  and  im 
portant  agency  of  Colonel  Templeton,  the  gentleman  al 
ready  spoken  of  in  the  second  chapter,  and  the  second 
wealthiest  commoner  in  the  British  parliament.  These, 
certainly,  were  thoughts  to  make  any  man's  heart  glad. 

Opposite  his  reverence  sat  his  wife,  an  English  lady,  and 
at  her  side  his  maiden  sister,  Miss  Cantwell,  both,  as  it 
may  readily  be  supposed,  in  the  "sear  and  yellow;"  and, 
if  one  could  judge  from  looks,  might  have  been  launched 
on  the  current  of  life  together.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
personnage,  not  only  of  the  two  ladies,  but  of  each  and 
every  member  of  that  interesting  and  pious  family,  was 
wonderfully  alike  —  indeed,  so  very  much  so,  that  it  is  quite 
sufficient  to  say,  one  was  tall,  dark,  thin  (very  thin),  and 
ascetic,  and  all  the  rest  were  like  that  one ;  or  rather  (de 
prived  as  we  are  of  the  pencil  of  George  Cruikshank),  let 
us  substitute  an  illustration  from  Death  and  Dr.  Horn 
book  :  — 

"  Faint  a'  wame  (they)  had  ava', 

An'  then  (their)  shanks 
They  war'  as  thin  an'  sharp  an'  sma', 
As  cheeks  o'  branks." 


THICKS    UPON   TKAVELLERS.  47 

"  I  trust,"  said  the  head  of  the  family,  at  length  wiping 
his  toothpick,  his  countenance  assuming  a  grave  cast  as  he 
spoke,  u  I  trust  we  shall  have  no  disturbance  at  the  fair  to 
morrow." 

"  I  trust  not,"  quietly  replied  his  wife. 

"It's  nearly  time  now,  my  dear,  we  had  a  little  peace, 
after  a  whole  year's  warring  with  these  unfortunate 
people." 

"  I  fear,"  said  the  lady,  knitting  her  stocking,  and  speak 
ing  in  a  melancholy  tone,  "  I  fear  there  will  be  little  peace, 
while  these  Ribbonmen  are  permitted  to  remain  in  the 
country.  The  very  thought  of  them  is  terrifying." 

"  Permitted,  my  dear,"  repeated  her  husband,  "  you  sure 
ly  cannot  justly  call  it  permission,  when  we  have  already 
done  all  that  our  relations  with  the  church  and  the  gov 
ernment  require  of  us  to  exterminate  them.  If  they  have 
escaped  us,  we  are  not  to  blame." 

"  Not  you,  father,  to  be  sure,  nor  the  magistracy  in  gen 
eral,"  interposed  Archibald  the  agent,  "  but  the  enactment 
itself  is  to  blame.  It  is  not  sufficiently  comprehensive ; 
were  it  to  regard  the  abettors  of  Ribbonism  as  it  does  the 
members  of  the  society,  we  soon  would  have  a  peaceable 
neighborhood.  The  priest,!  am  informed,  said  in  town  no 
later  than  yesterday,  that  he  feared  the  provocation  his 
hearers  were  daily  receiving,  would  soon  make  matters 
still  worse.  That's  loyalty  and  allegiance  for  you." 

"Have  you  seen  this  priest  lately?"  inquired  Mrs.  Cant- 
well,  addressing  her  husband  with  evident  sarcasm  in  the 
tone. 

"  Not  very  lately,  my  dear,  I  believe." 

"I've  been  told,  sir,  he  insulted  you  a  few  days  ago  — 
in  fact,  laughed  at  you  —  laughed  at  you  contemptuously 
on  the  public  street,  Mr.  Cant  well.  Pray  is  it  so  ?  " 

"  Insulted  me,  my  dear,"  said  her  spouse,  endeavoring 
to  smile,  "oh,  no;  that  he  certainly  would  not  dare  to  do 
—  he  knows  if  I  cannot  punish  him  with  the  pistol  or  the 


48  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

sword,  I  have  still  the  statutes  of  Queen  Anne  at  my 
service." 

"  But  you  want  the  spirit  to  enforce  them,"  bitterly  re 
joined  the  lady. 

"  Let  me  explain,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  shame,  shame,  Mr.  Cantwell !  I  hate  explanations. 
I  never  thought,"  she  continued,  her  anger  rising  as  she 
spoke,  and  leaving  her  chair  for  a  seat  on  the  sofa  oppo 
site,  where  she  threw  herself,  averting  her  face  in  evident 
scorn,  "I  once  little  thought  my  lot  would  be  cast  among 
a  merciless  people,  and  with  a  husband  incapable  of  pro 
tecting  his  own  honor." 

"  Hear  me  for  a  moment,  Isabella,"  exclaimed  the  minis 
ter;  "  why,  this  is  intolerable  ;  you  have  been  grievously 
misinformed.  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  simply  this. 
Your  own  son,  whom  you  dote  upon  so  much,  Archibald 
there,  has  been  somehow  accused  of  an  affair  with  —  I 
don't  remember  her  name  —  that  young  woman  at  whose 
interment  I  would  not  suffer  the  priest  to  read  the  funeral 
service  in  canonicals.  Well,  this  same  priest  presumed  to 
speak  to  me  a  few  days  ago,  and  —  " 

"  And  insult  you,  too,  sir,"  added  the  lady,  turning  to 
her  husband  with  a  sneer  that  plainly  told  how  keenly  she 
felt  the  fancied  indignity  offered  him  by  a  priest. 

"  I  beg,  my  dear,  you  will  have  one  moment's  patience, 
and  let  me  —  " 

"  What  right,  sir,"  she  demanded,  rising  again,  and  pass 
ing  up  and  down  the  apartment,  with  little  attention  to 
her  husband's  remonstrance,  "  what  right  has  the  priest  to 
address  you  on  such  a  subject?  If  Archibald  be  guilty  of 
this  charge,  why,  he  is  greatly  to  blame.  But  is  the  crime 
irreparable  ?  One  would  suppose,  sir,  in  this  savage  land, 
the  loss  of  a  peasant  girl's  reputation  was  some  great 
national  evil  —  so  much  is  it  talked  of!  that  this  wretched 
people  valued  it  higher  than  ever  did  England  that  of 
her  greatest  and  proudest  peeresses :  her  Bl — tons,  her 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  49 

C — ng — ms,  and  her  Port — ths.  I  can  have  no  patience 
with  this  intolerable  pride  !  " 

"  Think,  now,  ray  dear,"  when  at  length  he  could  make 
himself  heard,  and  speaking  in  a  calm  but  reproving  voice, 
"  think  how  unseemly  this  passion  is  —  how  very  unseemly 
—  how  unlike  what  you  ought  to  be.  If  a  stranger  saw 
you  now  in  this  burst  of  passionate  feeling  —  or  anger,  I 
should  rather  call  it —  " 

"  And  if  he  did,  sir,"  she  replied,  elevating  her  voice  still 
higher,  "you  are  there  to  explain  the  cause  —  to  tell  him, 
sir,  that  the  indignation  of  the  wife  is  caused  by  the  pusil 
lanimity  of  the  husband.  Yes,  sir,  I  should  not  feel  at  all 
surprised  if  I  saw  this  same  priest  walk  in  here,  sir,  and 
horsewhip  you  at  your  own  fireside." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  sighed  his  reverence,  with  a  feel 
ing  of  resignation  to  the  ills  of  married  life,  "  very  well,  I 
can't  prevent  you." 

"  Ha !  haT"  she  cried,  after  a  moment's  breath,  and  look 
ing  scornfully  on  her  patient  and  loving  spouse,  "  ha !  ha ! 
and  where  are  all  the  converts  you  made  ?  Yes,  you  got 
their  names  to  send  to  the  Kildare  Street  Society ;  but 
where  are  the  converts  themselves  ?  Ha!  ha!"  she  ejacu 
lated  again  ;  "  you  have  had  ten  new  pews  built  in  church 
for  their  accommodation  —  who  occupies  them  ?  Yes,  sir, 
the  priest  may  laugh  at  you,  and  insult  you  too." 

During  this  last  philippic  the  rector  had  taken  up  "The 
Saints'  Everlasting  Rest,"  by  his  namesake,  and  seemed  to 
be  attentively  occupied  in  turning  over  the  pages,  as  if 
looking  for  something  in  which  he  took  interest.  Miss 
Rebecca  was  reading  the  last  annual,  and  Archibald  sat 
twirling  his  thumbs,  his  feet  stretched  out  before  him,  and 
glancing  under  his  dark  eyebrows  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  disputants.  At  length  he  laid  his  hand  on  his 
mother's  arm  as  she  passed  him,  and  said,  — 

"Mother,  you  are,  indeed,  excessively  severe — there  is 
no  need  of  these  hot  words.  Your  zeal  for  religion  makes 
4 


50  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,  OR 

you  forget  charity,  its  leading  virtue.  If  I  am  to  blame  in 
this  trifling  affair,  I  am  willing  to  bear  the  consequences. 
I  believe  I  am  sufficiently  responsible  for  my  own  acts." 

"It's  no  credit,  sir,  let  me  tell  you,"  said  his  father 
sharply,  turning  his  chair  and  pushing  the  footstool  violent 
ly  from  under  his  feet ;  "  no,  sir,  it's  no  credit  to  any  man 
to  be  responsible  for  disreputable  acts.  Pagh  !  sir,  your 
father's  name  should  be  a  check  on  your  vicious  inclina 
tions." 

"  Well,  but  consider,  sir,  mine  is  not  an  isolated  case  — 
liberties  are  certainly  permitted,  or  rather  I  should  have 
said  excusable,  in  men  of  my  rank  and  station." 

"  Oh,  do  cease  this  folly,  Archy,  dear,"  interposed  Re 
becca,  coaxingly ;  "  do  let  us  talk  of  something  more  in 
teresting.  I  have  heard  the  committee  is  to  meet  at  the 
lodge  *  to-morrow  night.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  wish  they  had  never  met,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Never  met  —  and  why,  my  dear  Archy  ?  " 

"  Because,  then  we  had  not  been  fools  for  the  world  to 
laugh  at." 

"  Oh,  you  are  surely  not  serious,"  said  his  aunt,  playfully." 

"  Serious,  why  the  very  children  in  the  streets  —  are 
they  not  mocking  us  as  we  pass,  and  their  mothers  cour- 
tesying  to  our  Orange  ribbons?  Were  not  the  colors  pre 
sented  to  the  corps  by  Lady  Farnham  pelted  with  mud 
while  flying  from  the  window  of  the  lodge  ?  But  by 
H — ,"  he  exclaimed,  starting  from  his  chair  at  the  thought 
of  such  degradation,  "  it  shall  not  be  long  so.  I'll  scourge 
the  vile  rabble  into  abject  submission.  I  have  the  power, 
and  will  use  it  with  a  vengeance.  If  my  conduct  is  to  be 
the  subject  of  conversation  for  the  priest,  it  shall  be  also 
for  his  people,  and  matter  enough  they  shall  have  to  em 
ploy  their  tongues  for  a  twelvemonth  to  come." 

"  Be  cautious,  Archibald,"  said  the  rector,  "  zeal  must  be 
tempered  with  prudence  ;  you  have  already  made  enemies 
for  yourself." 

*  Orange  lodge. 


TRICKS  UPON   TRAVELLERS.  51 

"  And  who,  among  these  enemies,"  haughtily  demanded 
the  agent  of  his  father,  "  which  of  them  dare  thwart  me  in 
my  projects  ?  " 

"  Your  own  rashness  may  defeat  them." 

"  Pagh  !  rashness  —  folly,  my  dear  sir.  Have  you  not 
seen  '  Goulburn's  '  opinion  on  these  matters  ?  But  who  is 
to  call  me  to  account  for  precipitancy,  in  such  a  cause  ?  " 

"  One  who  will  and  can.  Colonel  Templeton  himself — 
a  man  not  to  be  trilled  with.  He  is,  no  doubt,  an  enemy 
—  an  avowed  enemy  of  popery  —  but  a  man  scrupulously 
just  in  the  treatment  of  his  tenants.  He  will  tolerate  no 
interference  with  the  legal  rights  and  claims  of  land- 
tenure." 

"Admitted,  sir,"  replied  the  agent,  smiling  at  his  father's 
dread  of  the  colonel's  displeasure, "  admitted  —  rights  and 
claims  must  and  ought  to  be  respected.  But  has  he  not 
authorized,  nay,  encouraged  me  to  exterminate  for  legal 
cause  every  Catholic  tenant  on  his  estate,  if  I  can  find  a 
Protestant  substitute  ?  Be  satisfied,  sir,  my  power  is  well 
defined  —  my  instructions  clear  and  explicit,  and  I  shall 
take  care  to  be  guided  by  them  to  the  very  letter." 

"  It  is  your  duty,  Archibald,"  broke  in  the  lady  of  the 
mansion,  who  had  now  been  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  but 
by  no  means  disposed  to  abate  her  petulance,  "  and  yours 
too,  sir,"  she  said,  addressing  her  husband, "  as  a  magistrate 
and  minister,  to  destroy  the  man  of  sin." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  wife,"  replied  the  rector,  looking  up  pious 
ly  to  the  ceiling,  "  no  man  on  this  earth  would  risk  his  life 
more  cheerfully  than  I  would,  to  annhiliate  popery.  But 
it's  all  in  vain,  for  I  fear  the  plague-spot  is  spreading." 

"And  what  wonder,  sir,"  she  promptly  observed, "when 
you  are  afraid  to  apply  the  proper  remedy  for  the  evil ! " 

"The  remedy,  my  dear,  was  often  tried,  and  one  as 
powerful  too,  as  the  united  skill  of  the  greatest  and  ablest 
men  of  the  age  could  make  it.  Kings,  and  princes,  and 
subjects  have  applied  it ;  but,  alas  !  it  failed  —  why,  I  know 
not." 


52  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OK 

"  Perhaps,  because  popery  is  imperishable,"  said  the  lady, 
tauntingly. 

"I  must  confess,  Isabella,  notwithstanding  our  convic 
tion  to  the  contrary,  that  there  is  a  something  —  a  vitality 
you  may  call  it  —  in  popery,  which  does  seem  almost  im 
perishable;  while  we  attempt  to  cut  down  the  tree,  we 
only  shake  the  branches  and  scatter  the  seed,  —  instead  of 
destroying,  we  only  multiply  its  growth." 

"  I  did  not  expect  such  language  from  you,"  observed  his 
wife,  with  the  same  unchangeable  sneer  upon  her  lip,  — 
"  why,  I  think  you  had  better  turn  papist  yourself.  You 
could  speak  so  eloquently  of  the  perpetuity  of  that  faith. 
Why  do  you  not  enlighten  us  on  that  point  from  the  pulpit 

—  your  congregation  would  feel  so  delighted  —  so  very 
happy  to  hear  you  descant  —  " 

"  But  is  it  not  true  ?"  interrupted  her  husband  ;  "  alas  ! 
it  cannot  be  denied.  We  have  transported  and  put  to 
death  their  priests  in  hundreds,  and  yet  they  are  not  the 
fewer." 

"  Well,  go  on,  sir,"  muttered  the  lady,  "  I'll  not  stop  you 

—  go  on." 

"  We  have  made  it  felony  to  harbor  them,  and  yet  their 
unfortunate  followers  have  suffered  the  rack  and  gibbet, 
sooner  than  abandon  them  to  their  fate." 

"  Go  on,  sir ;  you  speak  admirably." 

"  We  have  set  the  same  price  on  the  priest's  head  we  did 
on  the  wolf's ;  the  wolves  were  all  slain,  but  the  priests 
are  more  numerous  than  ever." 

"  Beautiful !  —  proceed,  sir ;  I  declare  you're  becoming 
eloquent  at  last." 

"  We  have  had  the  pilgrims  of  t  Lough  Derg '  (or  *  Pat 
rick's  Purgatory,'  as  the  statutes  there  before  you  call  it) 
tied  to  carts,  and  scourged  through  the  streets  by  the  com 
mon  executioner,  and  all  was  of  no  avail ;  what  then  are 
we  to  do  ?  " 

Here  the  good  lady  could  no  longer  control  her  pas- 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  53 

sion,  convinced  as  she  was,  that  her  husband,  for  the  last 
five  minutes,  had  been  laboring  might  and  main  to  annoy 
and  perplex  her,  for  the  contempt  she  had  offered  him. 
She  started  up,  flung  her  stocking  on  the  floor,  raised  her 
arm,  as  if  about  to  make  some  solemn  protestation,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  a  servant  announced  "Mr.  Ebenezer 
Goodsoul."  The  lady's  arm  fell  to  her  side,  the  rector's 
feet  again  sought  the  cushion,  Miss  Rebecca  took  up  the 
annual,  and  Archibald  stretched  out  his  feet  before  him. 
In  the  faces  of  all  the  occupants  of  that  apartment,  not  one 
angry  look  remained ;  so  that  when  the  visitor  entered,  he 
might  well  exclaim,  "  O,  what  happy  faces  —  what  a  cheer 
ful,  happy  home ! " 

The  gentleman  who  now  made  his  appearance  was  not 
at  all  so  important  a  personage  as  the  reader  might  have  sup 
posed  from  the  wonderful  change  that  followed  his  an 
nouncement.  He  was  only  the  Bible  reader  of  the  district. 
This  term  may  sound  harsh  to  the  ears  of  some  of  our  kind 
readers,  and  hence  a  short  explanation  becomes  necessary 
to  avoid  misconception  and  prejudice. 

When  we  use  the  term  Bible  reader,  it  is  because  it  was 
the  proper  designation  of  his  peculiar  calling  —  adopted 
by  the  society  that  employed  him,  and  acknowledged  by 
himself  as  a  reverend  and  holy  title.  It  designated  the 
particular  office  and  rank  he  held  in  the  dissemination  of 
evangelical  truth.  The  Bible  reader  was  generally  a  mem 
ber  of  some  one  or  other  of  the  dissenting  churches  — 
sometimes,  but  very  seldom  indeed,  of  the  Anglican.  In 
rank  he  bore  the  same  relation  to  the  Methodist  minister 
that  the  lector  in  the  Catholic  church  does  to  the  priest. 
In  their  vocation  the  difference  consisted  in  the  Methodist 
minister  being  called  immediately  by  the  Lord,  and  the 
Bible  reader  by  the  Kildare  Street  Society,  or  any  other 
association  established  for  similar  purposes.  Bible  readers 
were  very  numerous  in  182-.  Being  for  the  most  part  il 
literate  men,  they  confined  their  labors  almost  exclusively 


54  SHANDY    M'GTJIKE,    OK 

to  remote  places,  seldom  appearing  in  towns,  except  on 
business  connected  with  their  office.  The  Kildare  Street 
Society  gave  them  twenty  pounds  a  year  as  a  salary,  and 
supplied  them  with  Bibles  and  religious  tracts  for  distribu 
tion  in  immense  quantities.  The  clergymen  also  in  the 
various  localities  recommended  them  strongly  to  the  char 
itable  consideration  of  their  hearers,  so  that,  everything 
considered,  they  might  be  called  a  very  well-pro  vided-for 
class  of  teachers  of  the  word.  But  we  must  not  omit  to 
mention,  that  besides  their  stated  salary,  they  had  what 
was  usually  called  head-money,  or  two  shillings  and  six 
pence  for  every  convert  to  the  gospel  —  that  is,  every  one 
who  could  answer  some  of  the  leading  questions  in  their 
approved  catechism,  and  had  attended  Sunday  school  twice 
at  least  within  three  months.  They  had  also  the  privilege 
of  making  converts  ad  libitum  ;  for  instance,  they  could 
recommend  destitute  Catholic  children,  or  adults,  as  the 
case  might  be,  to  the  "  Clothes  Committee  of  the  Parish," 
and  if  they  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  garments  in  lieu  of 
a  promise  to  attend  the  Protestant  church,  their  names 
were  despatched  to  Dublin  as  converts  to  the  light  of  the 
gospel,  and  a  reward  transmitted  thence  to  the  Bible  read 
er,  for  his  pious  advocacy  of  the  cause.  As  to  his  personal 
appearance,  the  Bible  reader  differed  as  much  from  the 
members  of  the  community  in  general,  as  the  Brahmin 
does  from  the  laborer  in  Hindostan.  He  invariably 
dressed  in  black,  as  became  his  calling  —  not  a  white  speck 
was  to  be  seen  except  the  cravat,  and  that  was  perfectly 
unique.  It  was  composed  of  leather,  like  that  of  the 
English  soldier,  and  covered  with  white  muslin,  but  worn 
so  high,  stiff,  and  immovable,  that  one  would  imagine  it 
intended  to  keep  the  eyes  of  the  wearer  forever  removed 
from  a  sight  of  the  sinful  earth  he  inhabited.  "When  walk 
ing,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  he  gave  a  lively  illustra 
tion  of  the  well-known  Greek  word  anthropos.  His  hair 
was  forever  cut  as  close  to  the  skin  as  it  was  possible  for 


TEICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  55 

scissors  to  accomplish  it.  His  hat  was  broad-brimmed, 
made  of  common  felt,  and  manufactured  expresely  for  the 
class,  by  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends  in  Wexford. 
The  bearing,  gait,  and  air  of  the  Bible  reader  were  pecu 
liar,  solemn,  and  impressive.  From  the  moment  he  was 
called  to  go  forth  and  preach,  he  was  never  known  to  smile 
more  —  not  a  beam  of  gladness  ever  lighted  up  his  coun 
tenance  again  ;  and  when  he  travelled,  night  or  day,  storm 
or  sunshine,  the  measured  pace  was  never  altered  ;  and  the 
lugubrious  face  never  spoke  but  of  mourning  and  sorrows 
to  the  light-hearted  peasantry  as  they  passed  him  on  the 
roads. 

To  such  a  class  of  men,  therefore,  did  the  gentleman  be 
long,  whose  name  has  been  already  announced  by  the 
servant,  Mr.  Ebenezer  Goodsoul.  If  the  reader  be  dis 
posed  to  find  fault  with  the  want  of  individuality  about 
our  reverend  visitor  —  if  he  thinks  we  have  not  been  suf 
ficiently  explicit  as  to  the  stature,  features,  &c.,  he  will 
please  to  observe,  once  for  all,  that  no  one  ever  yet  could 
distinguish  one  Bible  reader  from  another.  Similar  habits, 
thoughts,  manners,  dress,  and  deportment  had  so  far 
assimilated  and  amalgamated  the  different  individuals  of 
that  section  of  the  ministry  since  their  first  institution,  that 
all  identity  had  vanished.  He  (the  reader)  has  therefore 
no  choice  left  but  to  select  an  "ideal,"  and  he  may  be 
assured,  if  he  be  not  very  hard  to  please,  he  will  certainly 
find  one  at  least  to  suit  his  fancy,  between  Thersites  and 
Apollo,  or  between  Roebuck  and  Lord  Brougham. 

"  Delighted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Goodsoul,"  said  the  rector  — 
"  we  have  just  been  talking  of  the  blessings  of  religion,  a 
subject  so  dear  to  your  heart.  No  doubt  you  are  come  to 
speak  of  to-morrow's  meeting  of  the  brethren  in  com 
mittee.  Sit  down,  dear  Mr.  Goodsoul,  and  make  one  of 
the  family  circle.  Oh,  I  wish  —  how  I  do  wish,  that  all 
my  people  felt  as  deeply  interested  in  the  cause  of  our 
holy  religion  as  you,  my  friend  ! " 


66  SHANDY  M'GIirRE,   OR 

"  I  am  but  a  poor,  sinful  creature,  your  reverence,  and 
can  do  little  good,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  your  heart  is  in  the  great  cause." 

"  Heart  and  soul  have  I  dedicated  myself  to  the  holy 
work,"  said  the  Bible  reader. 

"  You  have  reason  to  rejoice  and  be  glad,  my  friend." 

"  I  am  grateful,  I  trust,  and  thankful  to  our  great  Ruler 
and  Master,  that  he  has  vouchsafed  to  look  upon  me  as 
the  humblest  of  his  servants." 

"  You  have  apprized  the  different  members  of  the  com 
mittee?"  inquired  the  rector. 

"  Each  and  every  one." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  rector ;  "  so  far  all  is  right. 
Laboring  on  your  mission,  as  usual  ?  " 

"  To  the  extent  of  my  poor  abilities,"  replied  the  Bible 
reader. 

"Successfully,!  hope?" 

"  As  much  so,  your  reverence,  as  it  might  be  given  to 
expect,  amidst  so  ungodfearing  a  people ;  verily,  the  stiff 
necks  of  the  Jews  are  not  so  hard  to  bend  as  are  those  of 
the  deluded  Catholics." 

"  We  have  yet  strong  hopes  in  the  holy  seed  of  the 
word,"  observed  the  rector. 

"  The  harvest  is  ripening,"  said  the  Bible  reader. 

"  It  will  be  fruitful  tenfold  in  its  season,"  said  the  rector. 

"  Yea,  a  hundredfold,"  said  the  Bible  reader. 

"  Your  reward  shall  be  great  and  everlasting,"  said  the 
rector. 

"And  thine,"  said  the  Bible  reader,  "oh,  thine,  reverend 
sir,  shall  be  without  measure,  for  thine  holy  ministration 
of  the  gospel  has  been  wonderfully  powerful  amongst  the 
people ;  the  seed  which  you  have  scattered  hath  already 
produced  much  fruit  (though  it  hath  not  yet  ripened)  ; 
yea,  even  in  the  shadow  of  death  —  for  when  you  came  to 
minister  to  us,  darkness  had  covered  the  land,  and  gross 
darkness  the  people;  but  the  light  of  the  gospel  hath 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  57 

beamed  out  from  thee,  and  shone  afar  off  like  unto  the 
pillar  in  the  desert." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  Goodsoul,  say  not  so,"  observed  the 
minister,  with  a  smile ;  "  no,  we  must  not  ascribe  to  our  gifts 
of  nature  the  wonderful  effects  of  the  word  amongst  the 
people.  But  have  your  labors  been  blessed  with  your 
usual  success  ?  " 

"  Far  beyond  my  expectations,"  said  the  Bible  reader  — 
"  within  the  last  two  weeks,  sixteen  souls  have  been  res 
cued  from  the  Ammonites  and  their  abominations." 

"  You  hear  that,  my  love,"  said  the  minister,  addressing 
his  lady,  "  What  a  consolation  —  sixteen  souls  within  the 
fortnight ! " 

"  And  the  priest,"  continued  the  rector,  "  have  you  met 
with  opposition  from  him,  as  usual  ?  " 

"  It  hath  not  been  so  great  as  formerly,"  replied  the 
Bible  reader,  "  yet  he  still  revileth  the  servants  of  the  Lord, 
in  the  high  place  he  hath  built  to  Moloch,  the  abomination 
of  the  children  of  Ammon." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  himself  of  the  evil  of  his  ways?" 
inquired  the  rector. 

"  I  have  spoken  in  charity,  and  he  would  not  hearken  to 
me ;  he  called  me  a  hypocrite,  because  I  have  been  once 
wicked,  and  turned  my  back  upon  my  sins.  But  verily, 
verily,  I  have  never  been  a  Moabite,  nor  bent  my  knee  be 
fore  Baal.  And  I  said  unto  him  when  he  put  me  from  his 
house,  '  Behold,  thou  hast  labored  like  Nahash  at  Jabesh- 
gilead  to  put  out  the  eyes  of  thy  Amalekite  people,  that 
they  might  not  see  thy  abominations.'  And  when  he 
laughed  at  my  rebuke,  I  waxed  wrothful  in  spirit  (for  I  am 
yet  weak),  and  said  unto  him,  that  another  like  our  holy  and 
God-fearing  Elizabeth  would  yet  come,  and  would  put  to 
death,  even  as  Josiah  did,  the  idolatrous  priests  that  burned 
incense  unto  Baal ;  and,  as  it  hath  been  commanded,  I 
shook  the  dust  from  my  feet  on  the  threshold  of  the  un 
believer." 


58  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    Oil 

"  You  have  clone  well,  ray  dear  Mr.  Good  soul,"  said  the 
lady  of  the  house,  speaking  with  peculiar  emphasis,  and 
looking  sidewise  at  her  husband;  "there  should  be  no 
peace  with  the  unbeliever." 

"And  when  may  we  expect  to  see  these  converts  at 
church  ?"  inquired  Rebecca,  "for  that  you  know,  my  dear 
Mr.  Goodsoul,  is  the  chief  consideration." 

"Their  outward  garments,  lady,"  replied  the  Bible 
reader,  "are  unseemly  for  such  a  presence  —  they  are  but 
indifferently  clothed,  and  full  of  delicacy  —  the  pride  of 
life.  I  know,  lady,  the  white  robes  of  innocence  are  more 
precious  in  His  sight,  yet  we  cannot  fail  to  remember  that 
the  Israelites  were  commanded  to  wash  their  very  garments 
before  they  approached  even  the  foot  of  the  mountain." 

"  Oh,  assuredly,"  interposed  Mrs.  Cantwell,  "  attention  to 
dress  is  by  no  means  incompatible  with  attention  to  the 
inner  man ;  but  are  you  satisfied,  Mr.  Goodsoul,  they  fail 
not  as  hitherto  in  their  attendance  at  church  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  madam,  —  they  will  attend  our  prayer  meet 
ing,  at  which  the  Rev.  Jejjediah  Sweetsoul  holds  forth  on 
his  return  from  Sligo." 

"  But  why  not  come  to  my  church,"  inquired  the  rector, 
"  where  their  conversion  will  be  more  publicly  known,  and 
their  little  wants  meet  with  a  more  prompt  and  liberal 
attention  ?  " 

"  For  the  very  reason  you  have  mentioned,  reverend  sir," 
replied  the  Bible  reader.  "  They  are  not  yet  sufficiently 
strengthened  by  the  spirit,  to  acknowledge  their  errors  in 
so  public  a  manner ;  the  false  delicacy  of  the  world,  poor 
carnal  creatures  as  they  are,  holds  them  back  a  little,  yet 
a  while  —  they  fear  their  enemies  might  say,  if  they  went 
first  among  your  wealthy  people,  that  they  had  a  yearning 
after  carnal  comforts,  instead  of  the  bread  of  life." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Baxter,"  said  his  wife,  compassionately, 
"  it's  right  —  to  be  sure  they  have  their  little  feelings.  Let 
them  go  to  the  Methodist  church." 


THICKS  UPON  TEAVELLEES.  59 

"  Well,  dear,  I  am  satisfied  if  you  are,"  said  her  husband. 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Baxter,  why  not  ?  "  said  bis  wife. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  husband. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  the  wife,  "  what  matters  it,  dear, 
what  church  they  attend,  if  they  only  abandon  the  super 
stitions  of  popery." 

"  But  they  will  not  abandon  them,"  said  Archibald, 
speaking  for  the  first  time. 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Oh,  they  are  thoroughly  convinced  of  their  error,"  said 
the  Bible  reader. 

"  So  were  all  the  converts,  if  we  could  believe  them," 
retorted  the  agent. 

"  But  these  are  prepared  to  make  a  public  profession,  I 
trust,"  enjoined  the  rector. 

"  Without  doubt,"  answered  the  Bible  reader. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  agent,  "  like  all  the  former  ones." 

"How?" 

"Until  they  are  clothed,  sheer  absolute  necessity  com 
pels  them.  They  can't  help  it.  They  can't  be  sincere  in 
their  promises  of  conversion.  They  can't  understand,  or 
rather  they  can't  feel  what  Protestantism  is.  They  can't 
take  the  bare  Bible  for  their  religion.  They  can't  enter 
our  churches  and  see  them  desolate,  stripped  of  everything 
that  used  to  warm  up  their  hearts  in  their  own,  without 
sorrow  and  regret.  They  never  can  be  converted  by 
ordinary  means.  Do  you  think  a  Catholic,  who  from  his 
infancy  saw  himself  surrounded  by  the  sacraments  of  his 
church,  and  from  which  he  received,  or  at  least  thought 
he  received  so  much  consolation  amid  all  his  trials  and 
disappointments  of  life,  will  be  content  with  a  bare  book 
which  he  cannot  understand  ?  Do  you  think  he  can 
relinquish  all  the  aids  to  salvation,  so  numerous  in  his 
church  —  that  he  can  forget  his  confession,  where  the  priest 
was  accustomed  to  direct  and  admonish  him,  even  if,  as 
we  think,  he  could  do  nothing  more  —  forget  his  comrnu- 


60  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

nion,  which  he  believed  to  be  the  body  of  Christ,  his  last 
sacrament,  which  he  had  depended  so  much  on  at  the  hour 
of  death  —  and  all  this  for  what  he  was  accustomed  to  look 
upon  as  the  mere  skeleton  of  a  religion,  without  form,  sub 
stance,  or  tangibility?" 

"  Nonsense,  Archibald,"  exclaimed  his  mother,  interrupt 
ing  him,  "  you  talk  very  strangely." 

"I  talk  the  truth,  mother,  and  you  know  it,"  replied 
Archibald. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  lady,  busying  herself  with  her 
work,  and  somewhat  discomposed,  "I  know  it,  do  I  — 
perhaps  so." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  mother,  you  know  it,  and  we  all  know  it 
well,  if  we  had  candor  enough  to  acknowledge  it.  I  hate 
popery,  myself,  as  I  do  the  d — 1,  and  would  exterminate 
papists  at  the  hazard  of  my  life.  But  why  should  we  belie 
their  religion,  in  order  to  deceive  ourselves  ?  They  never 
will  be  converted.  Within  the  last  five  years  you  have 
lost  many  of  your  hearers,  and  whom  have  you  gained  ? 
Three  permanent  converts;  and  who  are  they?  Men 
whom  the  priest  thrust  out  of  his  church,  for  theft  and 
other  crimes.  Could  they  be  called  Catholics  ?  Certainly 
not ;  the  priest  would  not  recognize  them  as  such." 

"But  they  have  reformed,  by  an  attentive  and  pious 
study  of  the  Bible,  a  change  which  the  influence  of  Catholic 
doctrine  never  could  have  effected.  And  they  have  re 
mained  steady  members  of  the  church,"  added  the  rector. 

"Steady,  no  doubt,  father,"  replied  Archibald;  "and 
why  not  ?  what  could  they  do  —  what  other  resource 
could  they  fly  to?  Their  first  duty  on  their  return  to  the 
Romish  communion  would  have  been  restitution — the  very 
thing  which  first  drove  them  out  of  it.  Make  restitution, 
and  let  their  wives  and  children  starve  !  The  thing  is  pre 
posterous.  They  are  constrained  to  remain  steady  where 
they  are,  and  where  no  minister's  authority  can  reach  their 
consciences  or  their  purse." 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  61 

"The  word  of  God  will  reach  them,"  said  the  rector, 
somewhat  pettishly. 

"  The  word  of  God  to  them  is  but  a  book  —  it  is  a  thing 
without  eyes,  ears,  tongue,  or  understanding,"  said  Archi 
bald.  "  It  is  but  a  dead  monitor,  the  priest  is  a  living  one. 
The  Bible  may  convince  the  intellect ;  but  the  heart,  the 
seat  of  the  sensibilities,  requires  a  far  different  action  to 
impel  it.  Suppose  you  changed  your  relative  positions  — 
give  the  Catholic  church  the  advantages  you  possess  — 
wealth,  titles,  authority,  patronage;  and  the  Protestant, 
poverty  and  persecution  —  how  many  hearers  would  you 
have  in  twelve  months?  None.  Do  you  think  it  would 
be  sufficient  to  hand  them  the  Bible,  and  say,  '  Here,  read 
that,  and  learn  to  suffer  for  conscience'  sake  '  ?  " 

"  You  have  given  vour  opinions  unsolicited,  Archibald," 
said  his  father,  "  and  with  a  very  unnecessary  earnestness. 
May  I  ask  what  is  your  object  in  all  this  ?  " 

"  Simply  to  prove  to  you,  if  you  are  not  already  con 
vinced  of  it,  that  all  your  endeavors  for  the  conversion  of 
Catholics  is  vain,  and  will  be  vain  to  the  end.  Well  then, 
when  you  cannot  lead  them  —  drive  them.  When  you 
cannot  reform  them  —  exterminate  them,  and  by  every 
means  in  your  power.  Leave  no  means  untried  ;  degrade 
them,  impoverish  them,  persecute  them.  Misery  and  beg 
gary  and  destitution  may  convert  them,  but  the  Bible 
never" 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  foregoing  dialogue  between 
father  and  son,  the  two  ladies  and  Mr.  Ebenezer  Goodsoul 
had  retired  to  a  distant  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  to 
have  a  little  quiet  conversation  on  the  important  subject 
of  clothing  the  converts. 

"Now,  my  dear  Mr.  Goodsoul,  tell  me  candidly,"  said 
Mrs.  Cantwell,  "  do  you  think  these  poor  creatures  are  sin 
cere  ?  "  and  she  laid  her  hand  familiarly  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yea,  verily,  madam,  their  conversion  is  truly  sincere." 

"  And  will  they  certainly  attend  your  church  ?  Have 
you  any  doubt  of  it?" 


62  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

"  None  whatever,  madam." 

"  Oh,  it  will  be  so  delightful,"  exclaimed  Miss  Rebecca, 
rubbing  her  hands. 

"  It  will  be  a  great  victory,  my  dear  Rebecca,  after  all 
the  taunts  we  have  borne,"  said  Mrs.  Cantwell,  smiling 
benignantly. 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed,"  added  Miss  Rebecca,  "  it  will  be  abso 
lutely  charming.  We  must  take  them  under  our  own  im 
mediate  protection,  poor  dear  creatures  —  they  shall  feel 
so  awkward,  you  know  —  so  confused,  when  they  find 
themselves  all  at  once  among  respectable  people." 

"Well,  but,  dear  Mr.  Goodsoul,  do  not  recommend 
them  if  you  be  not  absolutely  satisfied  of  their  attend 
ance.  You  know  how  we  have  suffered  already.  It  is 
so  very  humiliating  to  behold  these  nasty  creatures  strut 
ting  by  us  to  mass  in  the  very  garments  we  gave  them  — 
and  some  of  which  we  made  even  with  our  own  hands. 
It  is  really  insupportable." 

"Fear  not,  my  dear  lady,"  said  the  Bible  reader,  "they 
are  now,  I  trust,  children  of  grace ;  their  eyes  are  opened 
and  they  see  the  light." 

"  And  when  do  they  come  for  the  garments  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Cantwell ;  "  you  know  they  are  always  ready." 

"  When  you  please,  madam." 

"  Very  well,  then  —  when  the  colonel  comes.  We  ex 
pect  him  daily ;  he  is  now  visiting  at  Colonel  Percival's, 
of  Rockvale.  He  will  be  so  gratified." 

The  little  party  then  separated.  Mr.  Ebenezer  Good- 
soul  approached  the  door  of  the  apartment,  and  turning 
round,  bowed  to  every  member  of  the  family,  according  to 
seniority.  His  body  rose  to  a  perpendicular  and  bent  to  a 
right  angle  at  each  obeisance,  and  without  a  syllable  of 
accompaniment  to  lessen  the  solemnity  of  the  action,  he 
quitted  the  room,  his  head  thrown  back  as  usual,  and  his 
step  as  measured  and  steady  as  an  undertaker's  at  a 
funeral. 


TEICKS  UPON  TEAVELLEES.  63 

When  he  reached  the  porter's  lodge,  he  stopped  and 
mused  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something. 
He  did  not  return,  however,  but  stood  there  looking 
towards  the  glebe-house.  In  a  minute  or  two  after,  Arch 
ibald,  the  agent,  appeared  with  a  hurried  step,  and  said, 
as  he  approached, — 

"Goodsoul?" 

"  The  same." 

"  Ha  !  well,  what  news  ?  " 

"  I  have  executed  thy  commands  faithfully,"  said  the 
Bible  reader. 

"  Did  you  find  her  at  home  ?  "  inquired  the  agent. 

"  No,  sir,  she  was  returning  from  the  chapel,  or  the  house 
of  abominations,  where  she  had  gone,  with  other  maidens, 
to  worship  their  goddess  Astaroth." 

"  Humph !  "  said  Cantwell,  with  evident  dissatisfaction. 
"  I  wish  you  had  met  her  at  a  more  favorable  time.  Did 
she  seem  displeased  at  the  overture  ?  " 

"  Very  scornful,"  replied  Goodsoul ;  and  then  he  added, 
"  Verily,  she  seemeth  a  goodly  and  well-favored  maiden, 
and  —  " 

"  Well,  well,  sir,"  interrupted  Cantwell,  "  I  don't  require 
your  opinion  now  on  that  point.  But  the  answer  —  what 
was  her  answer  ?  " 

"  None,  sir." 

"  Ha !  did  you  tell  her  how  her  father  was  in  my  power, 
and  would  be  ejected  for  arrears  of  rent  if  she  continued 
obstinate  ?  "  said  the  agent. 

"  Yea,  sir,  and  she  chided  me  bitterly." 

"How?" 

"  She  spoke  of  hypocrites  in  the  garb  of  religion,  and 
affected  to  think  me  a  vile  man  —  that  I  was  leagued  with 
you  in  iniquity ;  but,  verily,  verily,  thy  secrets  are  thine 
own.  I  am  but  a  poor,  sinful  creature,  I  admit,  borne 
down  by  the  load  of  my  infirmities;  yet,  nevertheless — " 

"  Pah,  sir ! "  cried  Cantwell,  passionately,  "  a  truce  with 


64  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OR 

this  mummery.  We  know  each  other,  Mr.  Goodsoul.  I 
know  your  value,  and  you,  I  believe,  have  already  some 
reason  to  know  mine.  Remember  that  —  " 

Here  steps  were  heard  coming  towards  them,  which 
interrupted  the  conversation.  The  agent  and  his  trusty 
and  pious  confidant  separated  for  the  night. 


TEICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  65 


CHAPTER    V. 

AN  IRISH  FAIR,  WITH  ITS  PECULIARITIES;  WHICH,  BEING 
NATIONAL,  FOR  THE  MOST  PART,  ARE  VERY  UN-ENGLISH, 
AND  OF  COURSE  VERY  ABSURD. 

WHEN  Dick  had  delivered  the  letter  to  Doogan,  accord 
ing  to  Shandy's  instructions,  he  sauntered  through  the 
village  with  a  very  self-satisfied  air,  and  —  if  we  might 
judge  from  the  quantity  of  cakes  he  carried  in  his  pockets, 
into  which  his  hand  found  its  way  occasionally  —  with  the 
laudable  determination  of  living  like  any  other  indepen 
dent  gentleman,  while  the  resources  lasted ;  or,  as  Mrs. 
Trollope  would  say,  like  any  other  Irishman. 

The  "fair"  was  unusually  large,  the  day  fine,  and 
business  smart  and  stirring.  It  was  now  about  six  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  All  the  principal  parts  of  the  town  — 
particularly  the  Diamond  —  were  crowded  with  people 
listening  to  ballad-singers,  lottery  men,  and  itinerant  auc 
tioneers.  Having  sold  what  they  had  brought  to  market, 
or  purchased  their  little  necessaries,  as  the  case  might  have 
been,  their  thoughts  were  high  and  happy  —  glad  to  see 
their  neighbors,  and  disposed  for  the  time  to  forget  all 
their  wrongs  and  sufferings,  and  to  be  on  friendly  terms 
with  the  whole  wide  world.  Almost  every  one  having  a 
penny  to  spare  was  desirous  of  treating  his  neighbor  .to 
"something  to  dhrink ; "  or,  when  his  thoughts  turned 
homewards,  of  buying  "  the  fairins  for  the  childher,  the 
craythurs  who'd  be  expekin'  them." 

"Here;  Peggy,  acushla,  here's  a  testher,"  said  an  ill- 
5 


66  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OH 

dressed  but  good-looking  countryman  to  his  wife,  "  maybe 
ye  want  somethin'  to  buy." 

"  Feen  a  hap  worth  'ill  buy  the  day,  Barney,"  she  re 
plied. 

"  Well,  well,  ye'll  want  somethin',  maybe  ;  here,  woman, 
take  it." 

"  Barney,  dear,  you  know  we  can't  afford  it ;  it's  fitther 
we'd  lay  it  up  for  the  haliday  rent.  Cantwell  'ill  drive  us 
to  the  pound  av  we  hav'n't  it  ready  for  him." 

"  I  know  that,  Peggy  ;  but  sure  God's  good  —  it's  a  long 
while  yet  to  that  time,  ye  know,  an'  the  corn's  up  tuppence 
a  stone  —  here,  dear,  take  the  thrifle,  we'll  niver  miss  it." 

"A  thrifle  now  an'  a  thrifle  again,  Barney,  'id  soon  run 
out  the  purse,"  observed  the  wife,  smiling  in  her  husband's 
face ;  "  an'  you  wantiii'  a  new  shuit,  so  ye  do  —  for  in 
truth  'am  a'most  ashamed  to  luck  at  ye,  yer  so  bare  i' 
thothes." 

"Hout!  niver  mind  me  —  these  ould  duds 'ill  dome 
well  enough ;  ye'r  more  in  need  i'  somethin'  dacent  yerself. 
Here,  take  the  testher,  'am  sayin'." 

"  Well,  sure,  thanks  be  to  God,  Barney,  we're  not  so 
badly  off —  we're  stout  an'  strong  yet,  both  av  us,  an'  has 
our  hands  to  work  for  a  livin' ;  I'll  buy  somethin'  with  it 
for  the  childher,  they'll  be  at  the  lane  waitin'  for  us." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  her  husband,  "  here's  candies  here 
beyont,  it  'ill  plaze  the  craythurs  best  av  any." 

He  led  the  way  accordingly,  jostling  the  crowd  as  he 
passed  along  to  where  the  candy-men  were  crying  their 
valuables  at  a  corner  of  the  Diamond,  and  where  the  pas 
sage  was  narrow  and  densely  thronged,  some  crushing  in 
to  purchase,  and  others  listening  and  laughing  at  the  droll 
expressions  of  the  venders.  In  the  centre  of  the  crowd 
were  two  men,  carrying  each  a  wooden  waiter  or  square 
board,  on  which  the  candies  were  placed,  and  supported 
by  cords  running  round  their  necks,  and  fastened  to  the 
four  corners.  On  this  waiter  might  be  seen  arranged,  ac- 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLEES.  67 

cording  to  their  several  genus  and  species,  all  kinds  of 
beasts,  birds,  and  fishes,  made  of  sugar  or  molasses,  as  it 
might  suit  the  customer's  purse  or  please  his  fancy.  The 
two  candy  merchants,  as  already  said,  met  directly  in  the 
middle  of  the  throng,  each  passing  in  an  opposite  direc 
tion,  and  vociferating  the  qualities  and  perfections  of  his 
stock  in  trade,  in  tones  capable  of  waking  the  very  dead. 
Neither  would  give  way  to  the  other.  So  that  each  stood 
facing  his  antagonist,  looking  daggers,  and  endeavoring  to 
silence  him  by  the  strength  of  his  lungs,  as  he  cried, 

"  Here's  the  Rock  —  the  Rock  (candy),  the  rale  Indhin, 
And  peppermint  Rock,  goin'  for 
Bits  'i  brass  for  broken  glass — r — r — " 

"  Lave  the  road  ! "  shouted  one,  at  length,  impatient  of 
the  delay  ;  "  lave  the  road,  an'  let  yer  betthers  pass.  Here's 
the  Rock,  the  Rock— r—  " 

"  When  I  see  them,  my  augenaugh"  cried  the  other. 
«  Here's  the  Rock— r—  " 

"  Stop  yer  shoutin',  or  'ill  run  my  Jcetogue  down  yer 
throat,"  again  cried  the  first,  and  then  in  an  under  tone  to 
a  new  purchaser,  —  "twopence,  ma'am,  only  twopence,  it's 
dead  cheap ;  that  horse's  as  big  as  a  common  elephant  — 
here's  the  Rock,  the  Rock — r — ,  yis,  ma'am,  only  a  half 
penny,  one  hal'penny ;  that  cat's  as  large  as  a  dacent  sheep. 
Stop,  ye  spalpeen,"  he  continued,  —  "stop,"  said  he,  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  and  shaking  his  fist  at  his  competitor, 
"  stop  this  minit,  or  'ill  not  lave  a  baste  on  your  boord." 
Here  an  incident  occurred,  however,  which  precipitated  a 
quarrel  that  would  have  evidently  taken  place,  only  per 
haps  a  few  minutes  later.  A  tall,  stalwart  fellow,  flourish 
ing  a  blackthorn  of  no  very  slender  proportions,  shouldered 
the  last  speaker  against  his  antagonist — breaking  cows, 
horses,  seals,  whales,  elephants,  and  their  keepers  at  one 
rush.  The  candy-merchants,  seeing  their  stock  in  trade 
literally  swept  from  their  hands,  and  their  prospects  com- 


68  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

pletely  ruined,  perhaps  for  a  whole  month  to  come,  turned 
to  revenge  on  each  other  the  injury  their  own  obstinacy 
had  occasioned.  Being  strangers,  however,  in  that  part 
of  the  country,  and  generally  of  a  character  not  likely  to 
create  much  interest  in  their  favor,  they  were  permitted  to 
adjust  their  differences  as  it  pleased  them  best.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  man  with  the  blackthorn  was  not  idle  : 
treading,  with  the  most  magnanimous  disregard  for  danger, 
over  tigers,  lions,  and  various  other  savage  animals,  he 
shouted,  as  he  hurled  the  bystanders  aside, — 

"Make  room!  make  room  here  for  the  ballad-singer  — 
let  me  see  the  policeman  that  dare  touch  him  —  stand 
rouri*  him  there,  and  keep  yer  shillelahs  in  yer  fists.  Frank 
Devlin,  can't  ye  drive  that  oul'  fella'  with  the  cape  on  his 
coat  out  'i  that  —  don't  ye  see  he's  crushin'  the  ballad- 
singer  ?" 

"Three  cheers  for  the  ballad-singer!"  cried  another; 
"  who  dar'  say  bum  to  the  *  white  ribbons  '  ?  " 

"  Lift  it  now,  my  bonchal  —  yer  friends  is  roun'  ye,"  cried 
a  third,  slapping  the  vocalist  on  the  shoulder.  "  Hurroo  ! 
my  boy,  ye've  friends  at  yer  back.  Rise  it,  my  lad,  an' 
don't  fear  the  bloody  police."  The  ballad-singer,  seeing 
himself  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  strong,  stout  men,  ready 
to  protect  him,  took  courage,  at  length,  and  began  in  a 
stentorian  voice,  — 

"  Come  all  ye  Roman  Catholics,  I  pray  ye  now  attind, 
An'  listen  with  attention  to  those  few  lines  I  pinned; 
It's  av  the  bloody  Orangemen,  I  mane  for  to  relate, 
That  murthered  Teady  Houlahan,  and  did  him  masecrate. 

"  It  was  on  the  twelfth  iv  July,  as  that  ye  soon  will  hear, 
That  comin'  from  Jim  Donaher's,  all  in  this  present  year, 
They  put  a  sword  into  his  heart,  an'  pinned  him  to  the  groun'  — 
The  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul,  it's  to  himself  be  toul'"  (told). 

The  cry  of  "  Police  !  police  !  "  put  a  stop  to  the  song,  as 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  69 

the  ballad-singer  had  begun  the  third  verse  with  increased 
animation  ;  "They're  corain',  they're  comin',  an'  Trueblue 
at  their  head."  In  another  instant  the  police  were  in  their 
midst,  and  with  bayonets  on  their  carabines,  drove  the  de 
fenceless  people  before  them,  pricking  them  from  side  to 
side  as  they  dashed  furiously  along.  Five  or  six  mounted 
police,  with  the  officer  in  front,  were  particularly  active ; 
careless  of  all  consequences,  and  reckless  of  human  life, 
they  spurred  their  maddened  horses  over  men  and  women, 
young  and  old,  shouting  as  the  infuriated  animals  reared 
and  plunged  under  the  spur,  "  Cut  them  down,  the  bloody 
papists,  hew  them  to  the  ground,  the  croppy  rebels,  we'll 
teach  them  treason  songs."  The  officer  who  had  charge 
of  the  party,  having  already  cut  and  maimed  all  who  op 
posed  his  progress,  came  dashing  up  to  where  Barney  and 
his  wife  had  taken  refuge.  As  he  approached  the  unoffend 
ing  man,  he  rose  in  his  saddle,  and  made  a  desperate  lunge, 
but  Barney  evading  the  blow,  the  horse  bolted  forward, 
throwing  down  his  wife,  and  crushing  her  under  his  feet. 
Hardly  had  she  fallen,  when  a  voice,  clear,  distinct,  and 
powerful,  was  heard  high  over  the  din  of  the  multitude, 
ringing  as  it  passed  along,  "  White  ribbons  to  the  rescue  !" 
and  the  next  instant  the  officer  received  a  blow  on  the 
temple,  and  fell  insensible  to  the  ground.  Then  the  riot  be 
came  serious.  The  white  ribbons  rallied  round  the  corner 
of  the  Diamond  from  every  part  of  the  fair,  and  aided,  as 
they  were,  by  friends  and  relations  who  had  never  joined, 
and  others  who  had  already  abandoned  the  society,  made 
a  formidable  force.  The  reins  of  the  cavalry  horses  were 
cut,  and  of  course  they  became  ungovernable,  throwing  off 
their  riders,  and  trampling  on  all  before  them.  The  in 
fantry,  on  the  other  hand,  had  their  bayonets  broken  in  the 
melee,  and  nothing  to  defend  them  but  the  unloaded  cara 
bines.  In  this  perplexity  the  police  cried  to  the  Rev.  Bax 
ter  Cantwell,  J.  P.,  to  read  the  riot  act,  and  the  sergeant 
taking  command  in  the  absence  of  his  superior  officer,  or- 


70  '  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

dered  the  men  to  load.  Amid  the  noise  and  turmoil  that 
prevailed,  the  magistrate  took  the  riot  act  from  the  clerk, 
and  read  with  considerable  perturbation  as  far  as  the  end 
of  the  first  paragraph,  when  a  shout  was  heard  behind  him, 
and  a  company  of  military  came  thundering  along,  with 
their  officer  in, front,  saying,  as  he  approached  the  magis 
trate,  in  a  deep,  authoritative  voice, — 

"  Stop,  sir —  I  take  command  here  !  " 

"  What !  Captain  O'Brien,"  demanded  the  rector,  "  are 
you  justice  of  the  peace?" 

"  I  am,  sir,  when  I  choose  to  act ;  and  I  choose  it  now. 
Lieutenant  Somers,"  he  added,  addressing  his  next  in  com 
mand,  "  put  the  sergeant  of  police  under  arrest,  and  send 
his  men  to  their  quarters.  Mr.  Cantwell,  you  have  no 
longer  authority  here  —  I  shall  be  responsible  to  the  proper 
authorities  for  this  conduct  of  mine,  when  required,"  and 
slightly  bowing  to  the  clergyman,  he  moved  along  in  front 
of  his  men.  In  another  minute,  all  was  as  quiet  and  peace 
able  as  if  a  loud  word  had  not  been  spoken.  The  crowd 
immediately  broke  up,  each  one  talking  of  the  scrimmage 
to  his  neighbor,  and  laughing  over  the  different  accidents 
that  occurred,  or  recounting  the  deeds  he  had  done  in  the 
"battle."  Whilst  the  scene  above  described  was  taking 
place,  others  of  a  less  exciting  description  were  occurring 
in  different  parts  of  the  village. 

At  an  open  window  of  a  very  elegant  mansion,  remote 
from  the  business  localities  of  Donegal,  sat  two  young 
ladies,  chatting  pleasantly  together,  and  enjoying  the  cool 
air  of  the  evening.  The  elder  of  the  two  was  Emily  John 
ston,  daughter  of  General  Johnston,  the  owner  of  the  es 
tablishment,  and  then  in  England  engaged  on  business 
connected  with  his  profession.  The  other  was  Ellen 
O'Donnell,  the  only  remaining  child  of  Edward  O'Donnell, 
formerly  of  Larkfield  Castle,  in  the  county  Leitrim,  but 
now  a  portrait  painter  in  Florence,  and  but  a  few  months 
returned  from  Italy,  where  she  had  spent  the  last  ten  years 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  71 

of  Her  life.  General  Johnston  had  formed  an  intimate  ac 
quaintance  with  her  father,  during  his  stay  at  Florence, 
where  he  had  gone  some  years  before,  at  the  request  of 
George  IV.,  to  purchase  cartoons  for  the  pavilion  at 
Brighton.  It  was  in  consequence  of  this  acquaintance 
tli at  the  general,  on  his  return  to  Italy  with  his  daughter 
in  182-,  again  visited  the  city  of  painters,  renewed  his  in 
timacy  with  Edward  O'Donnell,  and  at  the  solicitation  of 
Emily,  obtained  permission  for  Ellen  to  accompany  them 
to  England,  and  thence,  after  a  short  stay,  to  their  country 
seat  in  Donegal. 

Edward  O'Donnell  was  the  last  lineal  descendant  of  the 
kings  of  that  name.  He  had  but  one  brother  living,  and 
he  was  a  Dominican  friar,  supposed  to  be  in  some  part  of 
Southern  Europe,  but  of  whom  he  received  no  intelligence 
for  the  last  seven  years.  His  children  all  died  young  but 
Ellen,  and  she  was  now  the  only  tie  that  bound  him  to  life. 
The  Larkfield  estate  had  remained  in  possession  of  the  fam 
ily  ever  since  the  reign  of  the  old  kings,  and  until  some 
time  after  the  peace  of  Europe.  It  was  their  last  refuge 
amid  all  their  trials  and  persecutions  ;  and  they  regarded 
it  always  as  a  kingly  residence,  the  birthplace  and  nursery 
of  a  royal  race.  At  length,  however,  it  became  so  encum 
bered  by  the  interest  of  old  debts  long  accumulating,  that 
it  was  finally  put  to  the  hammer,  and  Edward  of  Larkfield 
was  cast  penniless  on  the  world.  Too  far  advanced  in 
years  to  enter  the  military  service  of  Spain,  where  many 
of  his  relatives  were  forced  to  seek  their  fortunes,  and  too 
proud  to  remain  in  his  native  land  as  a  beggar,  where  he 
felt  himself  entitled  to  rule  as  a  king,  he  resolved  to  emi 
grate  to  Florence,  where  he  hoped  his  pencil  would  earn 
a  competence  for  himself  and  his  child. 

Edward  had  already  acquired  considerable  celebrity  as 
a  painter.  He  had  spent  the  last  five  years  of  his  minority 
in  Florence,  and  was  just  beginning  to  take  a  respectable 
rank  among  the  artists  of  that  famous  city,  when  his  father 


72  SHANDY   M'GUIBE,   OR 

died,  and  he  was  called  home  to  take  possession  of  his 
estate. 

Before  his  departure  from  Florence,  he  discovered  that 
a  maternal  relative,  Hugh  O'Donnell,  who  lost  his  life  at 
Ravenna  in  1512,  had  left  a  collection  of  paintings  of  con 
siderable  value,  with  Count  Frioli,  of  Parma,  in  trust  for 
the  rightful  heir,  should  he  ever  claim  them.  These  con 
sisted  of  a  "  Sampson,"  (breaking  the  chains,)  by  Michael 
Angelo ;  a  "  Madonna,"  by  Raphael,  and  a  number  of  the 
earlier  productions  of  Titian  and  Giorgione,  with  all  of 
whom  he  had  cultivated  an  acquaintance  of  the  strictest 
and  friendliest  intimacy,  under  the  guardianship  of  Cardinal 
Bibiano,  afterwards  secretary  to  Leo  X.  These  splendid 
bequests  he  succeeded  in  recovering,  after  much  anxiety 
and  perseverance,  and  carried  them  with  him,  notwithstand 
ing  the  difficulty  and  danger  from  the  severe  restrictions 
of  the  Italian  laws,  home  to  his  patrimony  in  Leitrim. 
Surrounded  by  the  works  of  the  old  masters,  his  whole 
time  and  attention  was  now  devoted  to  his  easel,  declining 
all  intercourse  with  the  neighboring  gentry,  whom  he  ever 
regarded  more  as  serfs  than  as  equals  —  the  usurpers  of  his 
rights,  rather  than  the  lawful  inheritors  of  the  soil.  When, 
at  length,  he  found  himself,  after  many  struggles  and  long- 
enduring  trials,  driven  from  his  residence,  he  sold  all  the 
property  he  possessed  in  the  world,  personal  and  real,  ex 
cept  his  paintings,  from  which  he  never  parted;  and  the 
last  of  the  O'Donnells,  with  his  wife  and  daughter,  sought 
a  home  in  a  foreign  land.  He  chose  Florence. 

Ellen  had  now  reached  her  nineteenth  year.  She  was  a 
tall,  graceful,  and  eminently  beautiful  girl.  Her  features 
wore  an  expression  of  melancholy,  that  assorted  well  with 
the  sad  reverses  of  her  family  fortunes,  and  chastened 
rather  than  lessened  the  high  aristocratic  tone  of  feeling 
that  marked  her  countenance.  Educated  in  the  convents 
of  Italy,  surrounded  almost  from  her  infancy  by  all  that  is 
great  and  magnificent  in  Christian  worship,  and  inheriting 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  73 

the  chivalrous  Catholic  spirit  of  her  fathers,  she  was 
enthusiastic  in  her  attachment  to  the  "  old  faith."  Her 
native  country  held  the  next  place  in  her  affections.  On 
both  subjects  she  was  haughty  and  inflexible ;  on  all  others 
of  less  interest,  gay,  cheerful,  and  entertaining.  But  we 
must  not  anticipate. 

The  low  window  at  which  the  two  ladies  were  seated, 
looked  out,  as  already  observed,  on  a  quiet  and  remote 
part  of  the  village.  A  deep  palisade  before  the  house  in 
tercepted,  in  a  great  measure,  the  noise  proceeding  from 
the  business  and  bustle  of  the  fair,  and  gave  to  the  resi 
dence  a  somewhat  retired  appearance.  Notwithstanding, 
however,  the  shouts  and  cheers  of  the  populace  made  their 
way  thither  from  time  to  time,  and  elicited  from  the  ladies 
occasional  conjectures  as  to  what  might  be  passing,  or 
more  philosophical  remarks,  perhaps,  on  the  impulsive  and 
excitable  character  of  the  people. 

"  What  a  savage  people,  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Johnston,  on 
hearing  a  loud  shout  from  the  further  end  of  the  town ; 
"  really,  they  act  more  like  New  Zealanders  than  as  a  civil 
ized  people  —  if  indeed  they  can  be  called  civilized." 

"  Only  giving  you  a  proof,"  replied  her  companion, "  how 
happy  they  would  be  under  a  paternal  government.  A 
light-hearted  people,  Emily,  are  easily  satisfied." 

"But  look,"  said  Emily,  without  attending  to  the  reply, 
"look  how  wretched  they  appear.  See  that  group  passing 
the  gate.  How  fortunate,  Ellen,  you  have  not  to  pass 
your  life  amongst  such  beings  ! " 

"  If  fortune  prove  no  kinder,  Emily,  I  shall  have  little  to 
thank  her  for." 

"  Oh,  you  cannot  be  serious." 

"  Never  more  serious  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  I  can't  conceive,  for  the  life  of  me,"  said  Miss 
Johnston,  with  affected  surprise,  "  how  you  could  exist  in 
the  midst  of  such  barbarism." 

"  I  would  give  the  wide  world,  Emily,  to  be  once  more 


74  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

amongst  them,  mistress  of  that  old  castle  you  see  beyond 
there,  where  my  ancestors  reigned  before  they  were  driven 
to  Larkfield.  It  is  now  in  ruins  —  but  still  dearer  to  me 
than  all  the  earth  beside." 

"But  the  people  —  do  you  love  them  still  as  fondly  as 
ever?" 

"  Fonder  than  ever,"  said  her  companion ;  "  their  mis 
fortunes  bind  them  every  day  nearer  and  closer  to  my 
heart." 

"  Indeed,  Ellen,  you  astonish  me  —  you,  especially,  who 
have  seen  so  much  of  the  world  —  so  much  courted  during 
our  stay  in  London  —  the  admired  in  all  the  fashionable 
circles  of  the  great  metropolis.  Why,  it's  almost  in 
credible  ! " 

"  It  was  there  I  learned  best  the  sterling  worth  of  my 
poor  countrymen,"  observed  Ellen. 

"How  so?" 

"  In  contrasting  the  licentiousness  and  deception  prac 
tised  there,  with  the  pure  morality,  chivalrous  honor,  and 
unbending  integrity  of  the  poor  peasantry  you  see  before 
you" 

"You  are  a  happy  girl,  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Johnston;  "I 
wish  I  could  feel  as  proud  of  my  countrymen  as  you  seem 
to  do." 

"I  feel,"  said  her  companion,  with  a  promptness  that 
marked  how  sincerely  she  spoke,  "I  feel  as  every  Irish 
woman  ought  to  feel  —  proud  of  her  fine  old  land,  with  all 
its  old  memories  around  it.  I  am  but  a  simple  girl,  my 
dear  Emily,  and  speak  my  thoughts  without  reserve.  I 
love  my  countrymen  for  their  virtues  —  virtues  that  have 
ever  clung  to  them  bright  and  beautiful,  amid  the  gloom 
and  horrors  of  a  terrible  destiny.  Oh,  they  have  never  yet 
deserted  them." 

"  Such  sentiments  might  do  very  well,"  said  Miss  John 
ston,  smiling  somewhat  equivocally,  "  three  or  four  cen 
turies  ago ;  but  in  this  age,  and  in  the  society  we  live  in, 
they  are  perfectly  inadmissible  —  a  complete  outrage." 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  75 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  you  don't  reflect  how  little  I  prize 
English  society.  I  never  can  be  taught  to  like  society  that 
has  nothing  but  its  vices  to  recommend  it." 

"  Vices !  oh,  no,  Ellen,  you  are  too  severe ;  call  them  in 
dulgences.  And  you  know,  without  some  indulgences,  life 
would  be  intolerable." 

"  I  know  of  no  indulgence,  either  rich  or  poor  can  claim, 
at  the  expense  of  religion,  or  the  interests  of  our  fellow- 
creatures.  The  law  of  God  recognizes  no  distinction  of 
persons." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  replied  Miss  Johnston ;  "  I  don't  dis 
pute  that ;  but  you  know,  if  we  followed  that  law  in  every 
respect,  we  should  all  be  nuns  and  anchorites." 

"And  therefore  the  better  Christians,"  said  Ellen;  "did 
we  possess  but  half  the  charity  they  do,  the  poor  mendi 
cants  at  our  door  would  not  so  often  upbraid  us  with  our 
luxuries.  But  the  law  does  not  command  us  to  be  either 
nuns  or  anchorites,  but  to  perform  our  religious  and  social 
duties  in  a  Christain  spirit.  The  wickedness  of  the  world 
has  made  more  nuns  and  anchorites  than  the  counsels  of 
the  gospel.  Had  society  been  what  God  intended  it  to  be, 
there  would  have  been  no  need  of  such  seclusion." 

"  Pah  !  Ellen  dear,  I  hate  moralizing  —  it's  so  Methodis- 
tical.  Come,  let  us  have  some  music.  I'm  weary  of  this 
monotony  —  but  look,"  she  added,  rising,  "look  here,  who 
is  this  gentleman  opening  the  gate  ?  He-  seems,  by  the 
smile  on  his  face,  to  be  one  of  your  acquaintances.  Good 
heavens,  how  hideous  he  is  !  " 

It  was  poor  "  Dick  the  Omedaun."  He  had  recognized 
his  friend,  and  came  to  speak  to  her. 

"  God's  blissin'  be  on  your  purty  face,  Miss  Ellen,"  said 
Dick,  smiling,  as  he  looked  at  his  favorite,  leaning  towards 
him  from  the  window ;  "  it  diz  one  good  to  luck  at  ye,  so 
it  diz ;  won't  ye  shake  hands  with  me.  I  like  to  be  near 
ye.  But  maybe  ye  forget  me  —  oh,  no,  Miss  Ellen,  ye 
don't  —  sure  ye  don't  forget  Dick  ?  " 


76  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OK 

"  No,  no,  Dick,"  she  replied,  feelingly,  "  I  never  will  for 
get  you.  I  should  be  very,  very  ungrateful,  if  I  forgot 
you,  my  poor  fellow.  You  risked  your  life  for  me,  Dick  — 
I  can  never  forget  that." 

"  Oh,  tare-un-ages,  d'ye  mind  it ! "  ejaculated  Dick. 
"That  was  the  wild  night,  wusn't  it,  Miss  Ellen.  You 
niver  got  the  money  since?" 

"  No,  Dick,  I  never  expect  to  get  it." 

"Oh,  maybe  we  might,  Miss  Ellen;  'twas  a  power  i' 
money.  Bad  luck  attend  the  villains.  Don't  ye  mind 
how  I  carried  ye  in  my  arms  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  called  me  all  the  time  yer  lanna  bought? 

"  Ha,  ha !  ye  don't  forget  —  God's  blissin'  on  ye  —  an' 
you  a'most  dead." 

"But,  look  here,  Dick,"  said  Ellen,  directing  his  atten 
tion  to  her  companion  at  her  side,  and  of  whose  presence, 
till  that  moment,  he  seemed  to  be  completely  unconscious, 
so  much  was  he  interested  in  the  person  speaking  to  him  — 
his  hands  resting  on  the  window-sill,  and  his  large  eyes 
fixed  full  on  her  face ;  "  look,  how  do  you  like  this  young 
lady  —  is  she  not  very  handsome  ?  " 

"  Phught ! "  said  Dick,  turning  his  eyes  towards  the 
lady  for  an  instant,  and  then  withdrawing  them,  "  she's 
only  a  sassenayh.  Miss  Ellen.  I  like  yerself  far  betther. 
That's  the  general's  daughter  —  I  know  her  rightly." 

"And  what  is  a  sassenagh  ?"  inquired  Miss  Johnston. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Dick,  scarcely  heeding  the 
question. 

«  Tell  the  lady,  Dick." 

"Oh,  sure  they're  the  people  beyont  the  wather  that 
hates  us  —  bekase  —  " 

"  Because  what  ?  "  demanded  Emily. 

"  Bekase  —  I  don't  know  —  they  say  it's  bekase  we  go  to 
mass,  and  haven't  good  clothes;  that's  what  Shandy  says, 
and  sure  he  knows.  Don't  be  stay  in'  with  them,  Miss 
Ellen,  don't,  they'll  be  makin'  ye  forget  iz." 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS .  77 

"  Stand  out  of  the  way  !  "  cried  an  angry  voice  to  some 
one  obstructing  the  passage  at  the  gate,  "  leave  the  side 
walk,  sir ;  what  business  have  you  here  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  that's  him,  that's  him  ! "  muttered  Dick,  his  voice 
immediately  falling  to  a  stage  whisper. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,"  inquired  Ellen. 

"  Him  that  murdhered  Mary  Curran ;  don't  you  know 
him?" 

«  Murdered  ?  " 

"  Ay,  surely  —  sure  she's  buried  in  the  ould  abbey." 

"You  forget  yourself,  Dick,"  said  Ellen,  reprovingly. 
"I  shall  be  displeased  if  jou  talk  so." 

"  Indeed,  it's  as  thrue  as  yer  there.  They  say  he  broke 
her  heart  in  two  — jist  as  ye'd  break  a  Jcippeen  (little  stick), 
and  then  you  know  she  died." 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other,  as  if  commiserating 
the  darkness  of  the  poor  fellow's  intellect,  and  believing 
this  story  to  be  some  momentary  creation  of  his  wild  and 
restless  fancy.  They  said  nothing,  however,  but  permitted 
him  to  proceed. 

"  He's  a  bad  man,  Miss  Ellen,  to  brak  a  poor  girl's  heart 
that  way,  an'  her  not  doin'  any  harm."  He  paused  for  a 
moment  to  think,  and  then  looking  up  again  in  Ellen's 
face,  said  sternly,  "  Troth,  if  I  had  a  gun,  'id  shoot  him ! " 

"  Shoot  him ! "  repeated  Ellen,  awed  by  the  sullen  de 
cision  with  which  he  spoke. 

"  Well,"  said  Dick,  musingly,  "  I  would,  only  for  Father 
Domnick  —  he'd  surely  fin'  it  out.  They  say  he  knows 
ivry  thing." 

"Who?" 

"  Father  Domnick.  But  he  wudn't  let  me  go  on  my 
knees  to  him  like  the  rest." 

"Why  so,  Dick?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  he  said  I  was  an  innocent  creathur. 
God  bless  him,  he's  very  ould  I  believe.  He'll  soon  be 
goin'  there  himself;  but  tell  me,  Miss  Ellen,  isn't  it  a  quare 
thing  to  see  an  ould  man  cryin'  ?  " 


78  SHANDY  M'GUTRE,   OB 

"Who  was  crying,  Dick?" 

"  Father  Domnick  —  'twas  at  Mary's  funeral.  An'  sure, 
I  was  cryin'  too.  Troth  was  I  —  I  cudn,t  help  it,  some 
way.  My  mother  says  I  niver  cried  afore  since  I  was  the 
size  i'  that.  Well,  I'll  tell  ye.  Ye  know  all  the  people 
cum  in  from  ivry  place  —  ay,  as  much  as  'id  be  in  a  market 

—  an'  oh,  what  a  gatherm'  i'  young  girls.     Mary  Connor 
was  there  too.     D'ye  know  Mary  Connor  ?  —  no,  ye  don't 

—  ould  Jemmie's  daughter  that  has  the  mill.     My  mother 
said  Mary  was  the  queen  i'  the  whole  i'  them.     An'  then 
you  know  when  mass  was  over,  up  they  gets  an'  walks  in 
rows  jest  for  all  the  world  like  sodgers.     Oh,  it  was  very 
purty,  Miss  Ellen.     I  was  thinkin'  av  you  then.     I  was 
sayin'  to  Mickey  Durnin,  if  you  were  there  ye'd  take  the 
shine  out  i'  them  all.     Whin  we  cum  to  th'  ould  abbey, 
who'd  be  there  but  the  minister,  ridin'  on  a  big   black 
horse,  jist  at  the  gate.     Sure,  they  say  the  ould  place  be 
longed  to  iz  long  ago.     I  don't  like  it  any  way,  it's  bare 
now  a'most  as  myself, "  looking  at  his  tattered  garments 
with  a  melancholy  smile ;  "troth,  it  is  —  an'  them  black 
crows  be's  in  it  ivry  night  to  scar  people.     Whusper,  Miss 
Ellen,  sure  I  was  afeerd  the  docthors  'id  be  goin'  to  lift 
Mary  —  bad  luck  to  them,  they  say  they  be   goin'  about 
the  new  graves.     Well,  sure,  I  slipt  out  when  my  mother 
was  asleep,  an'  stole  over  to  th'  ould  place  to  sit  awhile 
beside  the  crathur,  for  fear,  ye  know.     It  was  very  dark  — 
horrid  dark,  an'  rainin'  —  ye  wudn't  see  yer  finger  afore  ye 

—  but  norra  bit  I  cared  beside  Mary.     Her  ghost  wouldn't 
do  me  any  harm  —  she  was  a  good  crathur,  jist  like  yer- 
self.     Tell  me,  is  that  ould  castle  yours  ?     Shandy  says  it 
is.     Maybe  ye'd  come  an  live  in't  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  —  but  you  were  talking  of  the  abbey,"  said 
Ellen,  "  you  were  not  afraid  to  remain  there  at  night  ?  " 

"  No,  feen  a  bit  av  Mary  I  was  afeerd,  but  them  crows 
was  frightenin'  me ;  they  were  black,  ill-luckin'  things. 
D'ye  know,  Miss  Ellen,  I  thought  they  ough'n't  to  be  com- 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  79 

in'  about  Mary's  grave  that  way.  Sure,  the  minister  made 
Father  Domnick  take  aff  the  black  ribbon  that  was  on  his 
neck.  He  said  he'd  pit  him  in  jail  if  he  didn't.  I  dinno 
cud  he,  Miss  Ellen  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Dick,  so  I'm  told  —  but  you  said  Father 
Domnick  was  crying." 

"  Oh,  ay,  'deed  was  he  —  tell  me,  did  ye  ever  see  an 
ould  priest  cryin'  ?  Well,  no  one  seen  it  but  myself.  He 
cudn't  spake  right,  some  way ;  he.  was  only  whisperin' ; 
that's  when  the  coffin  was  pit  in,  ye  know.  I  was  beside 
him,  jist  as  near  as  I'm  to  you,  an'  siz  he,  '  God  be  merciful 
to  ye,  Mary  Curran,  an'  forgive  them  that  tuck  yer  life.' 
Well,  when  he  said  that,  I  lucked  up  an'  saw  the  tears 
runnin'  down  his  cheeks  in  sthrames.  No  one  saw  him 
but  me  —  I  was  under  him  on  my  knees,  an'  he  kept  his 
han' jist  that  way  —  like  a  body  that  'id  be  ashamed  ;  an' 
then  siz  I,  on  my  knees,  when  I  saw  him  cryin',  I'll  kill  him 
for  that ;  an'  I  promised  with  my  hands  that  way,  by  the 
five  crosses  I  wud.  So  I  must  do  it,  Miss  Ellen." 

"  Oh,  Dick,  Dick !  "  said  Ellen,  starting  from  her  seat, 
and  shuddering  at  the  solemnity  with  which  he  pronounced 
the  last  words,  "you  must  not  do  that  —  that  would  be 
murder,  Dick.  I  must  speak  to  Father  Domnick  about  it; 
indeed  I  shall." 

"  Well,  if  ye  do,"  said  Dick, "  I'll  niver  care  about  ye 
more ;  'ill  niver  call  ye  my  lanna  bought  again."  Dick 
turned  from  the  window  and  walked  out  slowly  to  the 
road.  He  stood  there  for  a  moment,  holding  the  handle 
of  the  open  gate,  and  looking  wistfully  at  his  favorite.  At 
length  he  closed  the  gate,  shook  his  hand  at  Miss  Ellen  to 
keep  the  secret  from  Father  Domnick  (for  he  feared  not 
all  the  world  but  him),  and  turned  towards  the  fair. 


80  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,    OR 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    SAME    CONTINUED.       ANOTHER   LETTER   OF    SOME    IM 
PORTANCE. 

IN  the  dusk  of  the  evening  the  agent  of  Colonel  Tera- 
pleton  (whom  we  shall  call  Cantwell  simply  for  the  future, 
adding  reverend  as  a  distinction  in  his  father's  favor)  had 
been  seen  standing  for  upwards  of  an  hour  at  the  corner 
of  the  Diamond,  twirling  his  cane  between  his  forefinger 
and  thumb,  and  bandying  compliments  with  the  country 
girls  as  they  passed.  He  was  dressed  in  black,  and  wore 
a  white  glove  on  his  left  hand.  His  right  was  uncovered, 
but  on  its  little  finger  was  a  ring  apparently  of  some  value. 
The  rays  from  a  newly  lighted  lamp  in  the  window  of  a 
store  behind  him  fell  occasionally  on  the  brilliant,  as  he 
turned  and  twirled  the  cane,  and  gave  to  the  wearer  an 
air  of  fashionable  dandyism  which,  on  a  nearer  approach, 
contrasted  strangely  with  his  long,  dark,  sepulchral  visage. 
He  was  evidently  waiting  there  for  some  one,  for  he  looked 
anxiously  up  and  down  the  sidewalk  when  not  engaged  in 
making  his  mock  compliments  to  the  passers-by.  At 
length  he  began  to  feel  impatient,  and  instead  of  giving 
the  cane  a  circular  motion,  struck  it  now  perpendicularly 
on  the  ground  very  rapidly,  and  with  considerable  force. 
While  thus  employed,  Doogan  the  butcher  made  his  ap 
pearance. 

"Humph!"  said  Cantwell,  "you  come  when  it  suits 
your  convenience.  Well,  what  of  Devlin?  did  you  do 
that?" 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  81 

"  I  wadna  dout,  yer  honor,"  replied  the  butcher,  "  but 
he's  a  Ribbonman  a'ready." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  ken  by  his  snickerin'  an'  laughin',  when  he  met 
them  suspeckit  cheels  ye  wur  spakin'  o'  doun  by  there." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Shandy  M'Guire,  as  they  ca'  him,  an'  a  wheen 
ither  birds  i'  the  same  hatchin'." 

"  Did  you  put  the  paper  on  his  person,  as  you  promised  ?  " 
again  demanded  Cantwell,  speaking  low,  and  looking  round 
about  for  an  instant. 

"  He's  spotted,  yer  honor,"  replied  Doogan.  "  The  deil's 
na  surer  o'  his  ain  than  yer  honor  is  o'  him,  'gin  ye  like  to 
mak  the  grab,"  and  he  grinned,  as  he  spoke,  like  the  arch 
fiend  himself. 

"  And  where  is  it  to  be  found  ? "  inquired  Cantwell, 
eagerly. 

"  In  his  boot,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  he  maun  wear  buskins 
now,  like  any  ither^  young  gentleman." 

"  Ha !  are  you  positive  you  put  it  there ;  how  did  you 
effect  it?" 

«  Why,  whin  them  clevers  o'  ballad  singers  began  their 
Ribbon  sangs,  I  gaed  down  amang  them,  an'  seein'  Dev 
lin,  I  squeezed  mysel'  alangside  o'  the  lad.  Sae  whin  the 
scrimmage  begun,  and  a'  were  drivin'  helter-skelter  on  tap 
o'  us,  I  fell  down  aside  the  cheel,  jist  as  if  ane  had  gaen 
me  a  wallup  o'  a  cudgel,  an'  pud  the  threws  (trousers) 
up  and  drapped  in  the  bit  paper.  Hegh  !  mun,  I  ne'er  in 
a'  my  life  nabbed  a  cove  sae  cannie.  Deil  hae  me,  if  they 
wurna  trampin'  ower  me  like  an  auld  dead  doag.  Weel, 
I'll  no  be  mindin'  yer  honor  i'  the  wee  bit  Ian'  ye  prom 
ised  ;  ye'll  aye  keep  me  in  yer  honor's  thocghts,  na  dout." 
Then,  as  his  eye  caught  a  glance  of  the  brilliant  on  his 
patron's  finger,  he  exclaimed,  "  Hah !  that's  the  ring  —  I 
see  ye  like  it  —  it's  a  bra  stane,  yer  honor.  Did  ye  mak 
oot  the  '  device,'  as  ye  ca'd  it  ?  " 
6 


82  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OB 

"  No,  I  can't  read  it,  Doogan.  You  say  you  found  it  at 
Ballycastle  ?  " 

"  Within  a  wheen  miles  o'  it,  yer  honor,  jist  peepin'  out 
amang  the  dust  on  the  road.  But  I  wudna  be  ower  gaen 
to  wear  it  in  the  fairs  an'  markets,  yer  honor ;  'gin  the 
owner  'id  see  it,  he  might  thraw  my  wizen  for  the  bawble." 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  you  found  it  ten  years  ago  ?  " 

"  Ou  ay,  but  ye  ken,  it's  no  like  goud  or  siller,  it's  no 
easy  to  mistak  it,  and  maybe  the  owner  might  be  deil- 
driven  eneugh  to  say  I  rabbed  him  o't.  It's  a  bra  ring  for 
ane  that  it's  fittin'  for  —  but  it's  na  worth  a  bodle  to  me. 
Weel,  I  doutna  yer  honor  'ill  no  like  me  the  waur  o'  the 
ring,  when  ye  hae  iccasion  to  befreen  me  in  the  bit  farm." 

"  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  promised  ?  "  said  Cant- 
well,  again  striking  the  ground  with  the  cane,  in  evident 
vexation. 

"  Plenty,  yer  honor ;  I'd  tak'  yer  word  for  a  thousan', 
withoot  scrap  or  witness." 

"  Very  well,  let  it  rest  so.  Go  down,  now,"  he  contin 
ued,  laying  his  hand  on  the  butcher's  arm,  and  bending  his 
head  a  little  closer  to  his  ear ;  "  go  down  to  the  barrack, 
and  tell  the  policeman  in  charge  (the  sergeant  was  already 
placed  under  arrest),  tell  him  I  wish  Devlin  to  be  taken  to 
the  barrack  forthwith  —  to  be  strictly  searched,  and  if  any 
Ribbon  papers  or  other  such  evidence  of  conspiracy  be 
found  on  his  person,  to  be  detained  a  prisoner  till  further 
orders." 

Cantwell  drew  the  glove  over  his  right  hand,  turned  up 
the  cane  under  his  arm,  and  began  to  walk  leisurely  in  a 
homeward  direction.  He  stalked  along  with  the  air  of 
one  born  to  lord  it  over  such  serfs  as  surrounded  him, 
touching  his  hat  occasionally  to  the  better  dressed,  and 
passing  his  humbler  dependent  without  nod  or  recogni 
tion.  Conscious  of  the  power  he  possessed  as  agent  of 
the  great  Templeton  estate,  aware  of  the  awe  he  inspired 
for  his  authority,  and  brought  up  from  his  childhood  amidst 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  83 

hatred  and  contempt  for  everything  Irish,  he  looked,  as  he 
turned  his  eye  lazily  from  face  to  face,  and  strided  past,  to 
be  the  living  counterpart  of  Glenalvon,  when  he  said  to 
the  peasant  Douglas, 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  Glenalvon,  born  to  command 
Ten  thousand  slaves  like  thee ?  " 

Whatever  may  have  been  his  thoughts  at  that  moment, 
they  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  peculiar,  or  rather  a 
sort  of  confidential,  plucking  of  the  skirt  of  his  coat.  He 
turned  slowly  round,  without  either  surprise  or  displeasure, 
as  one  does  who  understands  the  niceties  to  be  observed 
in  secret  intercourse,  and  found  himself  beside  a  little  man, 
blind  of  an  eye,  and  wearing  a  tattered  brown  overcoat 
that  covered  him  from  the  neck  to  the  ankles. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  the  little  man,  in  a  low,  suppressed 
tone,  and  he  turned  down  a  lane  leading  to  the  old  castle 
which  Ellen  O'Donnell  alluded  to  when  conversing  in 
the  last  chapter  with  her  companion  at  the  open  window. 
Cantwell  obeyed  without  hesitation,  convinced  by  the 
stealthy  manner  of  the  stranger's  request  he  had  something 
interesting  to  communicate.  When  they  had  got  as  far 
as  the  ruins  of  the  old  building,  the  little  man,  facing  his 
companion  somewhat  abruptly,  and  lifting  his  hat  till  he 
bared  his  forehead,  said,  while  he  labored  under  a  painful 
impediment  of  utterance,  "Di  ye  know  me,  sir?" 

"  No,"  said  Cantwell,  after  a  pause,  during  which  his  eye 
passed  over  the  whole  person  of  the  stranger  with  a  scru 
tinizing  gaze.  "  No,  I  can't  remember  just  now  to  have 
seen  you  before." 

"  That's  quare  enough,"  said  the  little  man. 

"  Only  that  you  have  lost  an  eye,  and  your  manner  of 
speaking  is  so  very  different,  I  would  have  taken  you  for 
another,"  observed  Cantwell,  still  examining  the  stranger's 
person. 

"  An'  who  is  that  ?"  said  the  little  man,  scarcely  able  to 
articulate  the  words. 


84  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

"  A  man  they  call  Andy,  or  Shandy  M'Guire.  Do  you 
know  him  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  stranger ;  "  who  disn't  know  Shandy ; 
the  greatest  villain  —  " 

"  Well,  well,"  interrupted  Cantwell ;  "  enough !  What 
is  your  business  with  me  ?  " 

"  To  warn  you  av  danger." 

"  Danger !  humph !  in  what  shape  is  the  danger  to  ap 
pear?" 

"I'm  but  a  poor  man,  yer  honor,"  he  replied,  "an'  my 
life's  in  japirdy  too.  Will  ye  gi'  me  yer  word,  as  a  gintle- 
man,  that  ye  'ont  tell  it  ?  " 

"  Pagh !  "  ejaculated  Cantwell ;  "  I  did  not  come  here  to 
be  fooled  with  ;  tell  me  your  business  at  once,  sir,  or  I  shall 
compel  you  to  tell  it." 

"Maybe  ye  mightn't  do  that  so  aisy  as  ye  think;  well, 
there's  four  or  five  men  to  murdher  ye  whin  ye're  goin' 
home  th'  night.  If  they  ketch  ye  out  alone,  ye'll  not  be 
worth  the  liftin'." 

"Ha !  that's  the  danger,  is  it;  and  who  are  you,  pray?" 

"  Oh,  no  matter;  it's  enough  that  I  was  sent  to  warn  ye; 
so  that's  all  I  wus  bid  tell  ye." 

"And  who  sent  you,  my  honest  man,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  one  that  has  a  rigard  for  ye ;  she  toul  me  not  to 
minshin  her  name." 

" Her  name  ! "  repeated  Cantwell ;  humph  !  "who  is  she? 
I  roust  know  her  name." 

"  Oh,  faith,  I  darn't,"  said  the  little  man  ;  "  she's  mighty 
onaisy  about  ye ;  but  'am  bound  not  to  speak  a  word  — 
honor  bright,  Mr.  Cantwell." 

"  D — n  your  honor,  sir ;  honor  from  you  —  paugh  !  who 
is  she,  sir  ?  " 

"  I'm  a  poor  man,"  said  the  stranger  again,  "  I  cudn't." 

"  Here,"  said  Cantwell,  taking  off  his  right-hand  glove, 
and  handing  the  little  man  a  guinea  from  his  purse ;  "  here, 
try  will  that  open  your  mouth." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  85 

"  Open  sesame  ! "  ejaculated  the  little  man,  pocketing 
the  gold ;  that's  a  beauty  av  a  ring  an  yer  honor's  finger." 

"  The  name,  sir  —  the  name  ?  "  demanded  Cantwell,  con 
siderably  annoyed. 

"Mary  Connor,  the  miller's  daughter,"  whispered  the 
stranger,  almost  in  his  ear. 

Cantwell  was  taken  completely  by  surprise.  From  the 
failure  of  the  overture  made  to  the  young  girl  through 
Goodsoul,  he  feared  he  should  have  some  trouble  in  bring 
ing  her  to  terms,  and  accordingly  gave  up  all  hopes  of  im 
mediate  success,  resolving  rather  to  go  systematically  to 
work,  by  first  getting  rid  of  Frank  Devlin,  to  whom  she 
was  shortly  to  have  been  married,  and  then  working  on 
her  fears  for  her  father's  ejection  from  his  little  holding. 
But  now  that  affairs  had  taken  so  sudden  a  turn  in  his 
favor  he  knew  not  well  what  to  think ;  he  rejoiced  at  his 
good  fortune,  and  yet  he  feared  there  might  be  deception 
practised  upon  him.  Under  this  feeling  of  apprehension 
he  again  examined  the  features  of  the  stranger,  as  he 
said,  — 

"Mary  Connor;  humph!  perhaps  so  —  but  where's  the 
proof?" 

"The  proof's  here,"  said  the  little  man,  touching  the 
pocket  of  his  overcoat ;  but  there's  one  thing  yet  to  do 
afore  I  give  the  letter." 

"  The  letter !  —  what  is  that  one  thing  ?  "  earnestly  in 
quired  Cantwell. 

"  That  yer  honor  swears  — 

"I  swear  nothing,  not  a  word." 

"  Well,  that  ye'll  give  yer  word  an'  honor  as  a  gintle- 
man,  that  ye  won't,  while  yer  a  brathin'  mortial  man,  iver 
minshin  her  name,  as  ye  did  Mary  Curran's." 

"  Agreed,"  said  Cantwell ;  "  I  pledge  my  honor ;  that  is, 
if  she  don't  deceive  me." 

"  Then  there's  the  letter,"  said  the  stranger. 

Cantwell  took  from  his  hand  something  in  the  shape 


86  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,    OR 

of  a  letter.  It  was  perfectly  square,  very  much  soiled, 
and  sealed  with  some  substance  like  shoemakers'  wax, 
stamped  with  a  thimble.  On  the  back  of  the  missive 
were  written  the  words,  "  His  honor,  Mr.  Archibal  Cant- 
well  aistquire."  As  he  opened  the  letter,  a  piece  of  paper 
dropped  on  the  ground,  which  the  little  man  took  up  and 
held  until  Cantwell  had  finished  reading  the  epistle. 

"  Ha ! "  muttered  Cantwell,  "  'ill  be  in  danger,  will  If 
humph !  well,  what  next  —  to  be  at  the  Mill  at  10 ;  very 
good  —  capital  —  excellent!  Not  for  any  harm.  Oh,  no, 
not  the  least  harm.  Oh,  of  course  not.  Humph  !  ye  know 
my  father  always  paid  his  rint  dacently,  an?  niver  was  back 
a  penny.  Very  true,  to  be  sure.  Sine  this  racet.  Ha ! 
ha !  she  must  have  her  terms ;  well,  that's  all  I  wanted  — 
agreed.  Remimber^  dorit  cum  afther  10,  they'll  be  all  home 
thin.  Agreed  again.  Notebani.  Oh,  surely;  why  not? 
If  we're  to  be  married,  it  'ill  hatf  to  be  afore  the  wurl.  Ha ! 
ha !  by  George  that's  capital ;  married,  no  less.  Well  — 
ye  may  thrust  the  bearer  —  into  the  sea,  I  suppose.  A 
beautiful  epistle  from  my  adored  one  —  capital ! " 

When  he  had  ended  he  took  the  blank  receipt  from  the 
little  man's  hand,  and  again  looked  steadily  in  his  face. 

"  Be  cautious  how  far  you  proceed  in  this  affair,  honest 
friend,"  said  he,  "  for  if  I  am  deceived,  by  h —  your  life 
shall  pay  the  forfeit." 

"  An'  welkim,"  replied  the  little  man. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  demanded  Cantwell. 

"  Hudy  M'Gettigan,  yer  honor,  a  son  of  ould  Billy's  of 
Dumnasillach.  Sure  ye  know  my  uncle  Donahy  Buoy 
that  lives  —  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Cantwell,  impatiently ;  "  I  do  not  know ; 
but  no  matter  —  tell  me,  M'Gettigan,  are  you  fond  of 
gold?" 

"  Very,"  said  the  little  man. 

"  Would  you  make  yourself  useful  if  I  employed  and 
paid  you  well?" 


TEICKS   UPON  TRAVELLEKS.  87 

"  Fegs,  I  don't  know ;  sure,  av  coorse  'id  do  my  best  to 
earn  a  penny  in  honesty.  But,  yer  honor  'ill  be  a  betther 
jige  afther  th'  night.  Ye'll  aisy  fin'  me,  when  'am  awant- 
in'.  Hudy  McGettigan's  as  well  known  as  a  bad  half 
penny,  yer  honor." 

"  Very  likely,  very  likely  —  it  is  not  by  any  means  dif 
ficult  to  recognize  that  face  and  tongue  —  the  latter 'being, 
in  your  case  at  least,  a  very  unruly  member ;  "  and  Cant- 
well  laughed  at  the  miserable  pun.  "  However,"  he  added, 
"  I  shall  now  sign  the  receipt  —  come,  we  must  get  pen 
and  ink." 

"  Here  they  are,  yer  honor,"  said  the  stranger,  drawing 
an  ink-bottle  from  the  depth  of  his  capacious  pocket,  and 
taking  a  pen  from  under  the  inner  lining  of  his  hat ;  "  here, 
yer  honor,  here's  the  'vaniency,  and  there's  the  crown  i' 
my  caubeen  to  write  on."  Cantwell  filled  and  signed  a 
clear  receipt. 

As  he  handed  the  document  to  the  little  man,  he  re 
marked  a  slight  indication  of  a  smile  on  his  countenance ; 
but  attributing  it  very  naturally  to  the  pleasure  he  felt  in 
having  concluded  his  business  so  satisfactorily,  he  said 
nothing  on  that  score,  but  observed,  that  for  the  safety  of 
all  parties,  there  should  be  a  password  agreed  upon. 

"  Cupid,  I  think,"  said  Cantwell,  "  will  be  appropriate  ; 
tell  her  'Cupid'  is  the  password  —  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Arrah,  will  yer  honor  let  iz  alone,"  said  the  little  man, 
with  a  knowing  wink  of  his  lonely  eye  ;  "  is't  '  Cupid,'  the 
darlin'  himself,  that  ust  to  kill  iz  all  entirely  ?  Pooh,  yer 
honor,  jist  lave  it  to  me." 

"  Very  well,  I'm  satisfied  ;  but  be  cautious,  and  remem 
ber  your  instructions." 

"  Jist  trust  me  for  this  once ;  never  fear  Hudy ;  he 
knows  the  cards.  In  troth,  I'll  give  ye  the  queen  i'  hearts 
this  night,  yer  honor,  an'  no  one  the  wiser.  Och,  may 
showers  i'  love  attend  ye  anyway;  but  yer  the  dacent 
liberal  gintleman." 


88  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,  on 

The  agent  waited  not  to  hear  these  encomiums,  but  hur 
ried  up  the  lane.  The  little  man  disappeared  within  the 
walls  of  the  old  castle,  and  was  observed  to  be  in  the  act 
of  disencumbering  himself  of  the  brown  overcoat,  as  he 
became  invisible  amid  the  ruins. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  89 


CHAPTER    VII. 

BEING   A   CHAPTER   OF   REFLECTIONS. 

"  IT  must  be  admitted  the  Irish  are  a  wonderful  peo 
ple,"  said  the  Duke,  after  the  charge  at  Quatre-Bras.  We 
agree  with  him  fully ;  happy  to  think,  even  if  it  be  only 
once  in  our  lives,  we  have  the  pleasure  of  coinciding  in 
opinion  with  so  distinguished  a  personage.  His  reasons, 
however,  and  ours,  may  be  very  different,  though  the  con 
clusion  be  the  same.  Very  likely  the  Duke's  wonder  was 
excited  on  seeing  his  Irish  troops  display  so  much  valor 
and  desperate  daring  in  a  struggle  from  which  they  had 
nothing  to  gain,  but  the  consciousness  of  having  drawn 
the  slave-chain  still  closer  around  them,  by  strengthening 
the  arm  of  a  cruel,  despotic,  and  anti-national  government. 
So  far  the  commander-in-chief  was  perfectly  right.  In 
deed,  the  whole  world  agrees  with  him  on  that  point.  But 
our  reasons  are  somewhat  different,  more  numerous,  and 
equally  conclusive.  Besides,  the  Duke's  then  opinion  of 
the  Irish  people  is  of  comparatively  little  consequence 
now  to  the  reader  or  the  writer  of  these  pages,  since  he 
has  long  since  thought  proper  to  retract  it.  He  has  for 
gotten,  many  a  year  ago,  the  veterans  of  the  Douro  and 
Waterloo,  and  sat  tamely  by,  whilst  a  half-bred  alien 
chancellor  made  his  "  alien "  speech  against  their  claims 
to  the  rights  of  free-born  subjects  ;  he  sat  when  he  should 
have  arisen,  and  in  the  words  of  the  orator  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  have  cried,  "  Hold,  sir,  I  saw  the  aliens  do 
their  duty."  But  who  that  has  followed  him  in  his  extra- 


90  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,    OE- 

ordinary  career,  from  the  time  he  used  to  lisp  Ion-mots  and 
mumble  sugar-plums  in  Regent's  Park,  till  he  found  him 
self  the  enthroned  monarch  in  Apsly-house,  can  doubt  for 
a  moment  the  influence  court  favor  had  in  inducing  him 
to  barter  the  rights  of  his  native  land,  the  honor,  the  in 
tegrity  of  his  once  fair  name,  for  the  paltry  glory  with 
which  he  is  now  surrounded  —  a  glory  in  which  there  is 
not  mingled  one  single  blessing  of  his  country  or  his  race 
to  hallow  it?  How  truly  has  the  immortal  bard  antici 
pated  his  future  character,  when  he  said,  — 

"  Wellington  —  or  Villainton  —  for  fame  sounds 
The  heroic  syllable  both  ways  !  " 

It  cannot  be  denied,  the  Irish  are  a  strange  people. 
They  can  boast  of  more  contradictions  and  eccentricities 
of  character  than  any  other  nation  on  the  face  of  the  globe. 
Well,  and  what  then  ?  it  is  their  genius  —  every  nation 
has  its  genius ;  to  be  sure  it  has ;  but  in  the  Irish  nation 
it's  barbarism. 

The  Irish  are  democrats  in  their  public  meetings,  and 
aristocrats  at  home.  They  are  forever  shouting  for  equality 
among  men  as  their  birthright,  and  despising  their  neigh 
bors,  at  the  same  time,  for  the  lowness  of  the  family  con 
nections  ;  and  this  in  republics  is  called  a  weakness  ;  in  Ire 
land,  the  birthplace  of  a  thousand  kings,  it  is  but  the  result 
of  brutal  ignorance. 

They  work  like  slaves,  and  hoard  up  like  misers,  while 
left  to  the  solitude  of  their  farms  ;  but  once  that  monotony 
is  interrupted  by  the  bustle  of  the  fair,  and  the  hearty 
laugh  of  their  old  acquaintances,  all  the  necessities  of  the 
present,  and  all  dread  of  future  poverty  is  forgotton  in  a 
moment.  Ask  him  then  to  lend  his  money,  or  to  defend 
your  person  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  he  hands  you  the 
purse,  or  lifts  the  shillelah  without  a  moment's  hesitation. 
This,  in  England,  is  genuine  philanthropy  —  in  Ireland, 
but  the  impulse  of  animal  passion. 


TRICKS   UPON    TRAVELLERS.  91 

He  protects  his  little  property  at  every  hazard.  He  will 
sue  his  neighbor  for  the  slightest  encroachment  on  his  land 
—  often  when  the  damage  would  not  amount  to  a  shilling 
in  a  thousand  years.  But  go  to  his  house,  ask  him  to  re 
lieve  you  from  pecuniary  embarassment,  and  you  see  him 
in  an  instant  undergo  an  extraordinary  change.  He  does 
not  speculate  like  the  Scotchman  on  your  usefulness  as  a 
friend,  nor  like  the  Englishman,  will  he  take  time  to  con 
sider  by  telling  you  to  call  again  to-morrow;  but  ."Nancy 
Asthore,  bring  up  that  ould  stockin'  from  the  chist ;  sure, 
it's  God  sent  it  to  us,  to  help  ye,  my  poor  fella',  in  yer 
pinch."  For  this  the  Englishman  would  be  called  a  bene 
factor  —  the  Irishman  a  reckless  spendthrift. 

Pride  is  his  ruling  impulse.  He  labors  to  maintain  the 
credit  of  his  little  family  —  not  for  the  bare  means  of  sub 
sistence.  He  pays  his  rent,  not  exactly  because  he  thinks 
it  an  equivalent  for  the  land  he  occupies,  but  through  the 
dread  of  being  ejected  from  the  homestead  of  his  fathers, 
associated  as  it  is  with  all  the  little  family  honors.  This 
pride,  even  amid  all  his  misfortunes,  never  deserts  him. 
He  never  loses  a  full  consciousness  of  his  native  dignity. 
If  he  be  crushed  down,  it  is  but  the  body  —  the  spirit  still 
rises  and  swells  out  in  the  conflict.  And  when  at  last  he 
is  driven  from  his  home,  he  remains  not  in  the  vicinity  to 
beg  from  his  friends  and  relatives,  but  covering  up  his  face 
from  their  gaze,  he  takes  his  wife  and  children  by  the  hand, 
and  seeks  his  daily  pittance  from  the  strangers  in  some  re 
mote  part  of  his  native  island ;  or,  if  the  means  be  still 
left  him,  leaves  it  forever  to  gain  a  humble,  but  honorable 
livelihood  in  free  America.  In  England  this  would  be 
called  misfortune  ;  but  in  Ireland  it  is  only  the  result  of 
lazy,  indolent  habits. 

It  will  be  said —  (and  who  can  doubt  it  ?)  — that  mendi 
cants  are  more  numerous  in  Ireland  than  in  any  other  equal 
portion  of  the  globe.  And  is  there  to  be  found  any  other 
nation  of  the  globe  where  the  causes  of  beggary  have  been 


92  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

either  more  effective  or  more  numerous  than  in  Ireland  ? 
Absenteeism,  exorbitant  rents,  want  of  tenure,  want  of 
manufactures,  church  endowments  —  each  and  every  one 
of  these  is  sufficient  of  itself  to  pauperize  Ireland  ;  what 
therefore  must  be  the  effect  of  them  all  combined  ?  Yet 
notwithstanding  all  these,  the  able-bodied  paupers  of  Eng 
land  exceed  those  of  Ireland  in  a  ratio  of  twelve  to  four; 
and  of  these  four  it  will  be  found,  on  strict  inquiry,  that 
more  than  a  half  have  been,  and  now  are,  the  offsprings 
of  mendicants  —  having  followed  the  profession,  father  and 
son,  mother  and  daughter,  for  centuries.  Once  the  little 
pride  was  lost,  all  shame  and  delicacy  abandoned  them, 
and  their  children  grew  up  careless  and  indifferent  like 
their  parents ;  their  ambition  never  carrying  them  beyond 
the  mere  wants  and  exigencies  of  the  day.  While  the 
manufactures  of  Ireland,  before  and  for  a  very  short  time 
after  the  passing  of  the  legislative  union,  were  in  operation, 
there  were  few  mendicants  to  be  found,  and  the  people 
were  comparatively  happy  and  prosperous.  But  as  soon 
as  the  capital  was  removed  from  the  country,  on  the  circu 
lation  of  which  a  large  portion  of  the  laboring  class  de 
pended  chiefly  for  support,  the  people  had  no  resource  but 
the  land,  and  it  was  already  divided  and  subdivided  into 
farms  so  small  as  to  afford  only  a  moderate  return  to  the 
immediate  occupants.  The  dying  father  saw  his  sons  en 
tirely  unprovided  for  —  they  had  neither  trade  nor  profes 
sion  from  which  to  derive  their  maintenance,  and  hence  he 
was  obliged  to  divide  his  property  equally  among  all. 
Each  received  his  quota  of  the  inheritance,  and  on  that 
was  to  be  placed  his  sole  reliance ;  for  he  had  not  even  the 
alternative  of  becoming  a  day  laborer,  his  neighbor's  little 
spot  of  ground  being  equally  small  as  his  own,  and  in 
capable  of  affording  any  extra  employment.  According 
to  a  valuation  in  1830,  the  average  of  farms  under  crop  did 
not  exceed  four  acres  and  a  half.  Hence,  then,  the  Irish 
man  was  obliged  to  work  on  his  little  "  holding,"  and  if  he 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  93 

at  length  sank  to  beggary  under  the  pressure  of  misfor 
tunes,  he  either  found  his  way  to  other  countries,  where 
labor  received  a  better  remuneration,  or  he  was  thrown  out 
a  mere  mass  of  bones  —  a  cripple  pauper,  on  the  charity 
of  his  fellow-creatures. 

If  pauperism,  therefore,  has  increased  in  Ireland  since 
the  union,  England  alone  is  the  cause  of  the  calamity. 
But  when  the  voice  of  the  people  of  that  unhappy  country, 
not  her  own  sense  of  justice,  had  forced  her  to  entertain 
their  application  for  employment,  how  did  she  attempt  to 
remedy  the  evil?  Was  it  by  a  repeal  of  the  laws  under 
which  they  were  reduced  to  that  condition  ?  ~No ;  such  a 
course  might  trench,  perhaps,  too  closely  on  the  imperish 
able  rights  and  privileges  of  the  aristocracy.  Such  a  course, 
however  equitable,  would  harmonize  too  much  the  jarring 
discords  of  the  human  family ;  it  would  bring  a  wretched 
people  one  degree  higher  up  the  scale  of  human  happiness, 
at  the  expense  of  the  pensioned  peers  and  placemen  of  the 
realm.  It  could  not  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  It  would 
lessen  too  much  the  distance  that  separated  the  master 
and  the  slave.  The  idea  of  such  an  approximation  might 
do  in  a  republic,  but  under  an  English  monarchy,  and  an 
English  aristocracy,  it  was  utterly  alarming.  The  law  of 
primogeniture  would  soon  tend  to  revolutionize  the  country, 
instead  of  being  the  powerful  arm  of  the  oligarchy.  Na 
tional  prosperity  might  create  a  confusion  in  rank  and 
family  influence  —  it  might,  in  a  word,  enable  the  people 
to  examine  too  closely  the  relations  between  the  landlord 
and  tenant,  the  noble  and  the  peasant.  No,  no,  the  colo 
nies  were  the  remedy  for  the  evil.  They  were  the  fittest 
places  for  barbarians  like  the  Irish.  The  colonies  were 
purchased  with  Irish  blood  and  Irish  gold,  and  who  could 
deserve  them  better  as  a  reward  for  past  services  ?  And 
mark  the  care  and  wisdom  of  the  project.  Whilst  four 
millions  of  acres  of  reclaimable  land  lay  waste  in  Ireland, 
the  government  expatriates  the  hands  by  which  they  might 


94  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

have  been  made  productive.  Whilst  this  land,  according 
to  the  highest  valuation,  required  but  ten  pounds  an  acre 
to  bring  it  to  a  state  of  proper  cultivation,  the  government 
pays  out  of  the  public  treasury  the  sum  of  twenty-two 
pounds  per  head  for  emigrants  to  New  South  Wales  and 
other  colonies  of  the  empire.  And  what  is  still  worse,  in 
doing  so,  they  ship  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  country,  on 
which  the  cultivation  of  the  land  depended  (like  cargoes 
of  nursery  plants),  to  other  climes,  and  leave  the  old  de 
cayed  roots  and  trunks  to  rot  on  their  own  soil.  And  all 
this,  forsooth,  was  an  act  of  pure  benevolence  !  When  a 
nobleman  then  and  now  high  in  office  was  remonstrated 
with,  on  the  lavish  and  unprofitable  expenditure  of  the 
public  money  (at  Brook's,  a  few  nights  after  he  professed 
his  sympathy  for  the  people  of  Ireland),  he  exclaimed,  in 
a  fit  of  petulant  pride  and  passion,  "  He  wished  to  God 
he  could  ship  the  whole  nation,  and  consign  them  to  the 
d— 1." 

Shortly  after  the  scheme  of  expatriation  had  been  deter 
mined  on,  a  wealthy  and  benevolent  gentleman  (since 
member  for  Kircudbright,  Scotland)  endeavored  to  form  a 
company  having  for  its  object  the  purchase  of  fee-simple 
estates.  These  were  to  consist  chiefly  of  mountain  and 
turbury  lands  that  had  never  been  reclaimed,  to  be  given 
to  the  cottier  class  of  the  Irish  under  leases  of  twenty-one 
years  for  a  nominal  rent.  For  this  term  the  tenant  was  to 
pay  but  little  to  the  landlord ;  all  his  available  means  be^ 
ing  requisite  for  the  reclaiming  and  cultivation  of  his  farm 
—  but  at  the  expiration  of  the  term,  he  was  expected  to 
offer  the  proprietors  a  fair  remuneration  for  their  outlay  of 
capital.  The  design,  therefore,  was  to  give  employment 
to  the  people  on  their  own  soil,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
develop  the  internal  resources  of  the  country.  But  the 
project  failed.  He  was  invariably  told,  on  making  appli 
cation  for  shares,  that  the  object  was  decidedly  benevolent 
and  encouraging  to  the  enterprising  capitalist,  who  pre- 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  95 

pared  himself  to  run  all  risks  ;  but  owing  to  agrarian  riots 
and  disturbances  in  the  south,  and  party  quarrels  in  the 
north,  it  was  the  last  country  in  the  world  a  prudent  man 
would  choose  for  the  investment  of  his  money.  The  de 
sign  was  therefore  abandoned. 

In  the  following  year,  the  subject  was  brought  before 
the  government  in  a  new  form  (giving  Chancery  the  man 
agement),  but  like  the  former,  it  fell  through  by  the  mis- 
statements  and  false  reports  of  the  Irish  executive. 

The  treasury  paying  enormous  sums  for  the  drafting  off 
a  wretched  heart-broken  peasantry  from  their  own  fire 
sides,  where  millions  of  acres  lay  beside  them,  inviting  by 
all  their  facilities  for  reclamation  the  exercise  of  industry 
and  labor,  to  foreign  lands,  where  the  revenues  for  half  a 
century  to  come  could  barely  support  the  few  regiments 
of  military  left  for  their  protection,  is  a  picture  of  things 
so  anomalous,  that  we  can  hardly  reconcile  the  fact  with 
the  history  of  an  age  so  enlightened,  and  of  a  country  so 
renowned  for  the  wisdom  of  its  statesmen,  as  the  British 
empire  in  the  nineteenth  century. 

From  1809,  and  up  to  the  peace  of  Europe,  Ireland  was 
enabled  by  her  agricultural  produce  to  keep  England  from 
starving.  The  Baltic  was  closed,  America  was  up  in  arms, 
and  England  had  very  little  foreign  supplies  to  depend  on. 
During  these  few  years,  a  number  of  fortuitous  causes  con 
curred  to  make  Ireland  a  prosperous  and  contented  coun 
try.  But  when  peace  was  proclaimed,  and  grain  poured  in 
from  the  different  foreign  ports  that  had  been  sealed  up 
during  the  war,  to  almost  inundate  the  home  market  with 
a  torrent  of  plenty,  there  was  a  disastrous  change.  Prices 
of  grain  fell  immediately  —  the  enormous  rents  with  which 
the  Irish  farmer  was  saddled  were  still  kept  up,  and  the 
consequence  was,  the  farmer  saw  himself  reduced  in  a  few 
years.  To  remedy  this,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  either 
to  re-establish  the  manufactures,  or  reduce  the  rents  in 
some  proportion  to  the  fall  of  the  markets.  Neither  of 


96  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OK, 

the  two  remedies  was  taken.  Manufacture  was  entirely 
out  of  the  question,  for  two  reasons  —  first,  because  it 
would  be  injurious  to  England,  being  itself  a  manufactur 
ing  country,  having  millions  of  operatives  to  employ,  who 
would  be  thrown  out  of  employment  by  so  near  a  com 
petitor  as  Ireland.  And  secondly,  because,  as  already 
said,  there  was  no  security  for  the  investment  of  capital. 
But  the  reduction  of  rents  was  equally  as  impossible  as 
either  of  the  two  before  mentioned. 

The  great  land  proprietors  having  followed  the  Irish  par 
liament  to  the  English  metropolis,  felt  obliged  to  support 
more  expensive  establishments  there  than  had  been  re 
quired  in  the  less  fashionable  metropolis  of  their  own 
country.  They  accordingly  determined,  when  the  produce 
markets  were  high,  to  raise  the  rents  in  order  to  meet  their 
increased  expenditure.  The  rents,  however,  for  a  time, 
were  willingly  paid,  for  lands  were  valuable,  and  every 
thing  seemed  to  betoken  a  growing  national  prosperity. 
But  the  change  came  soon  and  sudden.  The  landlords 
were  inexorable  —  they  had  tasted  of  the  luxuries  of  Lon 
don  life,  and  were  resolved  not  to  relinquish  them ;  never 
to  relax  the  hold  they  had  once  taken,  nor  descend  one 
step  from  the  high  position  they  assumed,  to  meet  the  ex 
igencies  of  the  times.  The  people  were  sacrificed. 

Every  year  since  the  passing  of  the  union,  the  social  and 
political  condition  of  Ireland  was  gradually  deteriorating ; 
and  if  the  short  period  from  1807  to  1815  gave  hopes  of 
better  times,  it  was  only  to  render  the  disappointment  and 
reverses  of  after-years  more  afflicting  and  oppressive. 

But  if  the  old  noblesse  and  aristocracy  of  Ireland  had 
found  it  necessary  to  graduate  a  degree  higher  up  the  scale 
of  English  fashion,  what  shall  we  say  of  the  union  lords 
and  baronets  —  the  younglings  —  the  little  unfledged  ones 
—  that  day  after  day  came  chirping  and  waddling  in  upon 
the  theatre  of  fashionable  life?  Oh  Sheridan — poor  lost 
Sheridan  —  had  you  lived  till  1810,  how  many  new  and 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  97 

improved  editions  of  your  inimitable  Bob  Acres  could  you 
furnish,  from  the  flocks  of  new-made  Irish  lords,  baronets, 
esquires,  and  gentlemen  of  that  period  !  What  bustle  — 
what  shouldering  up  to  the  high  places  —  would  you  not 
depict !  What  equipages  with  English  coachmen  and 
Parisian  footmen  —  what  driving  and  smashing  at  the 
Herald  office  —  what  emblazonry  of  panels  —  lions  ram 
pant,  panthers  couchant,  sheafs  of  wheat,  and  bloody  arms 
—  what  damning  the  ignorant  Irish  —  what  cursing  their 
agents,  after  returning  from  the  fashionable  hells  of  Lon- 
doD  !  Unfortunate  Sheridan!  your  race  was  short  —  your 
star  was  shorn  of  its  beams  in  the  very  height  of  its  splen 
dor;  when  the  world  wanted  you  most,  you  had  left  it, 
and  none  was  found  to  fill  your  place.  What  a  character 
could  you  furnish  from  such  an  assemblage  of  raw  nobility ! 
Well  might  you  look  for  higher  applause  than  your  in 
comparable  Rivals  obtained,  when  you  first  brought  it  on 
the  stage  at  Coven t  Garden.  How  truly  could  your  "hero  " 
say,  like  Bob  Acres,  "  Oh,  Sir  Lucius,  I  have  had  my  an 
cestors  too,  every  one  of  them  colonels  and  captains  in  the 
militia,  odds  balls  and  barrels !  Say  no  more  about  that, 
man.  Odds  blades!  the  villain  has  called  me  traitor  to 
my  country,  renegade,  and  upstart.  I  must  be  in  a  pas 
sion,  Sir  Lucius,  I  must  be  in  a  rage ;  yes,  I  shall  fight 
him ;  sold  my  country  for  a  bribe  and  a  title  !  Dear  Sir 
Lucius,  let  me  be  in  a  rage  if  you  love  me.  Come,  here's 
pen  and  paper.  How  shall  I  begin  ?  Shall  I  begin  with 
an  oath  ?  Do,  Sir  Lucius,  let  me  begin  with  a  damme,  my 
lord."  With  a  countless  herd  of  such  spendthrift  nobles  and 
aristocrats  to  support  abroad,  and  an  overgrown,  bloated 
church  establishment  to  maintain  at  home,  it  might  be 
truly  said  in  their  own  homely,  but  expressive  language, 
they  were  poor,  broken-hearted  creathurs. 

The  following  copy  of  a  letter,  dropped  by  a  union  lord 
in  one  of  the  hells  of  London,  and  afterwards  published  in 
the  Dublin  Gazette,  will  give  the  reader  some  idea  of  the 
7 


98  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

friendly  relations  then  existing  between  landlords  and 
their  Irish  tenants.  It  was  addressed  to  his  agent  in  the 
county  Donegal :  — 

*  *  *  *  "Confound  them  —  the  ungrateful  dogs  —  my 
tenants  not  relieve  me  from  my  embarrassments!  Not 
able !  how  dare  they  have  the  audacity  to  say  so  ?  Not 
able,  indeed!  Well,  let  them  live  more  economically  — 
let  them  save  the  rent  and  pay  it.  I  only  ask  them  for 
the  rent  a  few  months  before  it  comes  due,  and  they  refuse. 
Why  do  they  not  live  on  potatoes  and  salt,  as  the  Irish  do 
in  other  parts  of  the  country  ?  It's  most  excellent  food  — 
they  should  be  thankful  to  have  it.  Curse  them,  do  they 
imagine  I  can  live  without  money?  There  is  still  that 
debt  of  honor  unpaid  to  Lord  Pillsbury.  I  cannot  en 
dure  this  trifling  any  longer.  If  the  rent  be  not  paid  by 
the  2d  of  November,  I  now  direct,  nay,  command  you,  to 
drive  them  (their  cattle),  eject  them,  grind  them  to  the 
dust.  Am  I  to  be  disgraced  —  my  name  dishonored  on 
their  account?  And  who  are  they  that  I  should  hesitate 
to  screw  from  them  the  last  farthing  ?  infamous  papists, 
savages,  pagans,  cross-worshippers  —  were  they  not  created 
to  be  our  slaves  ?  They  should  be  grateful  when  we  per 
mit  them  to  enjoy  even  the  very  breath  of  their  nostrils  — 
and  yet  some  of  them,  you  tell  me,  have  been  wondering 
how  we  can  spend  so  much  money.  Heavens !  what  is 
the  world  coming  to,  when  our  very  tenants  are  beginning 
to  talk  in  this  fashion.  This  is  the  effect  of  a  free  press, 
and  education  of  the  masses.  But  why  have  we  tenants 
at  all,  if  not  to  pay  our  debts,  if  we  please  to  contract 
them?  If  we  choose  to  keep  mistresses,  and  frequent 
gambling-houses,  what  is  that  to  them?  There  is  Lord 
Cunnin — am,  beside  me  down  there.  He  has  his  mistress 
to  maintain,  and  his  debts  of  honor  to  pay  —  why  do  his 
tenants  not  refuse  to  pay  him  —  even  a  whole  half-year's 
rent  in  advance  ?  Am  I  not  a  nobleman  as  well  as  he  — 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  99 

a  lord  only  of  yesterday  if  you  like  —  but  have  I  not  owned 
the  estate  before  I  obtained  the  title,  and  therefore  are  not 
my  rights  of  property  the  same  ?  He  can  afford  to  spend 
more,  perhaps,  than  I  can.  His  mother  was  kind,  and 
George  was  liberal  —  but  that  don't  concern  me.  His 
tenantry  dare  not  whisper  a  syllable  about  his  extrava 
gance.  Why  should  mine?  Drive  them  —  drive  them  at 
November  —  eject  them,  leave  them  without  house  or 
home,  if  they  refuse  to  pay  my  rent." 

The  American  reader  will  observe  that  we  speak  now 
of  the  state  of  Ireland  from  the  year  1816  to  the  story's 
date  —  always  remembering,  however,  that  it  was  every 
year  becoming  worse.  In  1822,  by  the  failure  of  a  single 
crop,  five  eighths  of  the  people  were  reduced  to  absolute 
starvation.  For  six  months  in  each  of  those  two  years  the 
towns  and  villages  were  crowded  with  people  begging  alms. 
They  seldom  appeared  till  after  sunset,  that  the  blush  of 
shame  might  not  be  seen  on  their  pallid  faces,  as  they 
stretched  out  their  hands  to  ask  relief  for  their  suffering 
children  in  the  name  of  the  God  of  charity.  The  writer  of 
these  pages  remembers  well  to  have  seen  the  long,  white, 
downy  hair  of  hunger  covering  the  cheeks  of  boys  and  girls 
of  tender  age,  as  they  came,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  to 
seek  relief.  He  remembers  to  have  seen  young  men, 
accompanied  by  their  wives,  with  ragged  cloaks  muffled 
closely  round  their  faces  to  avoid  recognition,  and  leaning 
against  the  walls  of  houses  in  the  villages  for  support,  as 
they  slowly  and  stealthily  staggered  rather  than  walked  in 
pursuit  of  a  morsel  of  food.  But,  reader,  this  is  not  all  — 
let  us  cap  the  climax. 

When  England  had  robbed  unfortunate  Ireland  of  all 
the  little  capital  she  accumulated  during  her  years  of 
prosperity ;  when  in  succeeding  years  she  robbed  her  even 
of  her  daily  food,  and  left  her  starving;  when  the  bread 
that  made  the  heart  light  and  the  arm  daring,  had  been 


100  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

turned  to  stone,  it  was  then,  ay,  then,  reader,  she  permitted 
a  prince  of  the  royal  blood  to  let  loose  his  Orange  myrmi 
dons  on  the  people  of  Ireland,  to  bind  in  cords  the  prostrate 
bodies  of  their  victims.  In  the  passing  of  the  infamous 
union,  she  had  drawn  away  the  very  heart's  blood  of  Ire 
land  —  her  parliament  was  her  seat  of  life,  her  principle 
of  vitality,  from  which  the  veins  diverged  and  radiated, 
carrying  life,  and  health,  and  strength  to  the  nation.  But 
that  was  not  enough ;  it  was  not  sufficient  that  Ireland 
fell  weak  and  powerless  at  her  feet,  the  object  of  her  hate, 
and  the  victim  of  her  vengeance.  No ;  she  had  another 
outrage  to  add  to  the  category.  When  she  saw  her 
bruised  and  bleeding  victim  at  her  feet,  suing  for  mercy, 
she  struck  her  —  like  a  craven  coward  she  struck  her.  It 
was  then  she  permitted  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland  to  sally 
out  under  their  august  leader,  the  Duke  of  Cumberland, 
like  the  Saracens  on  the  plains  of  Palestine,  after  the  battle 
was  ended,  and  tear  the  cross,  the  emblem  of  their  religion, 
from  the  nerveless  arms  that  had  so  long  guarded  it  from 
insult.  Yet  the  hoary-headed  miscreant  had  loftier  de 
signs  than  the  subjection  of  an  idolatrous  people.  His 
ambition  was  high  and  daring,  and  chivalrous,  like  that  of 
the  rest  of  the  royal  family.  To  be  sure :  high,  because  it 
was  despotic  — daring,  because  it  grasped  at  the  necks  of 
millions  — and  chivalrous,  because  treason  to  the  empire 
and  barbarity  to  its  subjects,  were  to  have  marked  its  prog 
ress.  Thus  are  the  hereditary  virtues  of  his  race  to  be 
explained  in  order  to  be  estimated.  This  royal  duke,  we 
are  told,  once  contemplated  the  erection  of  a  throne  on  the 
banks  of  the  Ganges,  or  the  Hoogley,  but  the  idea  of  a 
Hindoo  aristocracy  scared  him  from  the  project.  He  next 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  throne  of  Britain,  and  found  the 
object  exceeding  agreeable  and  fascinating.  But  there 
was  caution  to  be  used  in  laying  his  plans  of  operation. 
There  was  vigilance  necessary,  to  watch  the  spirit  of  the 
times,  and  great  care  to  be  observed  in  influencing  public 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  101 

opinion  in  his  favor.  He  accordingly  organized  a  society 
of  Orangemen,  at  the  head  of  which  he  placed  himself 
under  the  title  of  "  Grand  Master  of  the  Orangemen  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland."  He  declared  himself  the 
royal  champion  of  Protestantism,  and  proclaimed  eternal 
hostility  to  the  Catholic  people  of  Ireland.  Not  only  the 
lower  order  of  Irish  Protestants,  but  a  great  majority  of 
the  land-owners  and  wealthy  proprietors,  were  enrolled  in 
his  ranks.  Then,  after  a  few  years,  the  military  became 
gradually  initiated  in  the  mysteries  of  the  compact ;  regi 
ment  after  regiment  gave  in  their  adhesion,  till  almost  half 
the  standing  army,  and  all  the  militia,  were  at  his  beck. 
In  fact,  the  country  was  on  the  eve  of  an  insurrection ; 
Ernest  of  Hanover  would  inevitably  have  placed,  with  his 
own  hands,  the  British  crown  upon  his  head,  perhaps  in  a 
few  months  more,  had  not  the  government  suspected  his 
design,  and  despatched  an  order  through  the  "Horse- 
guards,"  suppressing  Orange  societies  in  the  army.  This 
timely  countermand  saved  the  nation  from  the  horrors  of 
a  civil  war,  but  did  not  entirely  destroy  the  hopes  of  the 
royal  duke ;  he  still  believed,  if  he  succeeded  in  extin 
guishing  the  Catholic  religion  in  Ireland,  he  would  yet  be 
come  the  idol  of  the  empire,  and  thus  mount  up  to  the 
throne  on  the  shoulders  of  the  English  people. 

The  Orangemen  of  Ireland  had  bound  themselves  by 
oath  to  follow  wherever  he  chose  to  lead  them.  They 
were  united  not  only  to  him,  but  to  each  other,  by  solemn 
oath  and  covenant  of  blood  in  a  common  bond  of  hatred 
to  everything  even  approaching  to  Catholicity.  They 
cared  little,  perhaps,  for  the  duke's  ambitious  projects, 
even  if  they  had  been  made  aware  of  them ;  it  was  suffi 
cient  for  them  that,  in  forwarding  his  schemes,  they  were 
permitted  to  indulge  their  undying  revenge  against  the 
Catholics  of  Ireland.  The  duke  felt  all  this,  and  resolved 
to  act  accordingly.  He  saw  himself  at  the  head  of  a  pow 
erful  body  of  men  (amounting,  in  1822,  to  125,000),  and 


102  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,   OR 

having  no  immediate  occasion  for  their  united  services,  he 
pointed  to  the  Papists  of  the  North,  as  playthings  to 
amuse  them  in  their  hours  of  idleness  ;  or  rather,  as  tar 
gets  on  which  they  might  practise,  so  that  when  the  hour 
should  arrive  for  more  serious  encounters  they  would  be 
found  a  well-disciplined  and  highly  accomplished  army  of 
cavaliers.  Thus  the  Catholics  were  completely  in  the 
power  of  their  enemies,  without  leaders,  arms,  money,  or 
other  means  to  maintain  an  opposition.  They  found  them 
selves  destitute  of  every  succor  —  a  beggared  race,  a 
starving  people.  They  had  submitted  too  long ;  they  had 
bartered  away  their  rights  and  liberties  for  reforms  prom 
ised,  but  never  realized.  They  found  themselves  at  last  in 
.the  same  position  as  the  unfortunate  Swiss,  who  made 
every  sacrifice  to  please  France,  and  at  the  end  were  de 
prived  of  their  independence  by  that  very  nation  —  the 
nation  whose  friendship  and  protection  they  had  so  long 
labored  and  suffered  to  secure. 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  103 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE   IRISHWOMAN    AS    SHE    OUGHT    TO   BE. 

ELLEN  O'DONNELL  stood  before  the  window,  pensive 
and  melancholy,  for  some  time  after  Dick  had  passed  the 
gate.  She  observed  the  solemnity  of  expression  and  de 
termined  look  with  which  the  Omedaun  accompanied  his 
last  words,  and  was  probably  thinking  over  the  possibility 
of  his  carrying  his  terrible  resolution  into  effect.  She 
turned  to  communicate  her  fears  to  her  companion,  but 
Miss  Johnston  had  left  the  room. 

The  shades  of  evening  were  now  coming  rapidly  over 
the  different  objects  in  the  apartment,  as  she  sat  down 
near  the  window,  resting  her  cheek  upon  her  hand.  The 
gloom  that  deepened  around  seemed  to  be  in  accordance 
with  her  thoughts.  Doubtless  she  was  then  musing  over 
the  fate  of  her  unhappy  country,  for  after  a  long  silence, 
during  which  her  eyes  were  fixed  unconsciously  upon  the 
table  against  which  she  reclined,  her  hand  sought  her  bo 
som,  and  drew  thence  a  small  gold  crucifix,  of  very  curious 
and  antique  workmanship ;  and  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
figure  of  the  Saviour  crucified,  she  said  in  a  tone  of  sorrow 
ful  satisfaction,  "  Emblem  of  the  faith  of  our  fathers,  image 
of  truth  and  love  divine,  amid  all  our  miseries  we  have 
never  deserted  thee.  I  thank  thee,  my  God,"  she  con 
tinued,  raising  her  moistening  eyes  towards  heaven,  "  I 
thank  thee,  that  amid  the  wreck  of  all  our  hopes  and  for 
tunes,  we  have  clung  to  thee  still  —  that  if  we  have  lost 
our  nationality,  we  have  still  preserved  the  faith." 


104  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

The  heart  of  the  beautiful  girl  had  been  saddened  by 
the  affecting  story  of  Mary  Curran,  related  in  his  own 
simple  style  by  poor  Dick.  The  name  called  up  many 
images  of  the  past ;  it  led  her  back  to  the  time  when  an 
other  gentle  heart  was  crushed  and  broken,  far  away 
"from  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow."  Her  memory 
wandered  through  that  dark  and  dreary  vista  of  years,  and 
not  one  single  ray  of  sunshine  could  she  find  to  dispel  the 
gloom. 

But  melancholy  in  a  little  time  gave  place  to  far  differ 
ent  feelings.  The  enthusiasm  of  her  country  and  her  race, 
unsubdued  by  all  the  stoicism  and  sophisticated  manners 
of  the  age,  again  resumed  its  dominion  over  her  proud 
spirit.  She  arose  and  placed  herself  before  the  harp,  her 
favorite  instrument.  She  had  carried  it  with  her  from  the 
shores  of  Italy,  to  wake  its  echoes  once  more  in  her  na 
tive  land. 

The  memory  of  her  fathers  now  rose  up  before  her  — 
the  red  spot  on  her  neck,  the  "  Baldearag  "  of  the  O'Don- 
nells,  glowed  and  smarted  as  if  conscious  of  the  indignant 
thoughts  that  burned  within  —  the  blood  mantled  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  dark  eye  flashed,  as  throwing  off  the  braid 
that  bound  her  throbbing  temples,  and  gazing  from  the 
window  on  the  fading  outline  of  her  ancestral  castle,  now 
in  ruins  before  her,  she  swept  the  strings  and  sang  in  all 
the  wild  luxury  of  her  impassioned  soul,  the  well-known 
stanzas  of  her  immortal  fellow-countryman :  — 

"  Oh,  for  the  swords  of  former  time ! 
Oh,  for  the  men  who  bore  them  ! 
When  armed  for  right  they  stood  sublime, 
And  tyrants  crouched  before  them ! 

"  Oh,  for  the  kings  who  flourished  then ! 

Oh,  for  the  pomp  that  crowned  them ! 
When  the  hearts  and  the  hands  of  free-born  men 
Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them." 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  105 

She  was  suddenly  interrupted  as  she  commenced  the 
accompaniment  to  the  next  stanza.  The  door  opened,  and 
a  tall  personage  made  his  appearance.  Ellen  could  not 
recognize  his  features  in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  apartment. 
She  arose  quickly  from  before  the  instrument,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  like  one  who  had  been  disturbed  in  some 
rapturous  reverie  —  her  fine  form  a  little  reclining  against 
the  piano  behind  her  —  the  cross  swinging  for  an  instant 
from  side  to  side,  and  then  resting  on  her  bosom  —  her 
long,  loose,  dark  tresses  flowing  gracefully  over  her  shoul 
ders,  and  her  cheeks  flushed  to  very  crimson,  like  a  sibyl 
under  the  influence  of  her  inspiring  deity.  Ellen  was  no 
longer  the  gentle  bashful  girl ;  she  stood  haughtily  before 
her  unknown  visitor,  and  looked  like  a  pythoness  gazing 
on  the  man  who  dared  thus  without  ceremony  to  check 
the  current  of  her  sacred  memories. 

"  Pardon  —  a  thousand  pardons,  Miss  O'Donnell,  for 
this  interruption ;  let  me  entreat  you  to  continue  —  pray 
do  not  —  " 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Cantwell,  I  believe  !  "  ejaculated  Ellen,  and 
her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke.  The  warm  blood  fled 
rapidly  from  her  cheeks,  and  her  face  became  pale  as  mar 
ble,  as  the  voice  made  her  conscious  in  whose  presence 
she  stood.  She  determined,  however,  to  suppress  her  in 
dignation,  and  receive  him  as  a  visitor  of  the  family. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  Mr.  Cantwell,"  she  continued,  sinking 
as  she  spoke  on  &fauteuil  at  her  side,  "  you  have  found  me 
quite  unprepared  for  the  honor  of  this  visit." 

"  I  regret,  exceedingly,  madam,  that  my  entrance  could 
interrupt  your  pleasures  for  an  instant.  Indeed,  when  the 
servant  announced  me,  I  was  about  to  withdraw  till  the 
end  of  the  piece ;  for  I  observed,  notwithstanding  he 
spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  you  were  still  unconscious  of  my 
presence  —  absorbed,  perhaps,  by  the  sentiment  of  the 
song  —  is  it  not  one  of  Moore's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  one  of  his  national  melodies.  Do  you  ad 
mire  his  songs  ?  " 


106  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

Here  a  servant  entered  with  lights. 

"  Oh,  delighted  with  them ;  all  his  songs  and  lyrics  are 
beautiful.  Some  of  them,  I  think,  inimitable  ;  but  do  you 
not  sometimes  feel  as  if  the  spirit  of  nationality  which  per 
vades  them  were  too  exclusive,  too  irrespective,  if  I  may 
say  so,  of  English  feeling  and  taste  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  Ellen,  "  I  think  he  has  in 
jured  himself  seriously  by  the  little  respect  he  has  shown, 
in  a  few  of  his  pieces,  for  English  national  and  religious 
prejudices.  He  should  never  have  stooped  to  notice  them 
at  all."  ^ 

And  do  you  think  it  wrong  to  conciliate  the  English 
people  in  favor  of  your  country  and  its  interests  ?  " 

"Conciliate  —  why,  Mr.  Cantwell,  we  have  nothing  to 
do  with  conciliation.  England  has  made  us  her  enemies 
by  her  tyranny  and  misrule  ;  it  is  her  duty  to  conciliate  — 
not  ours." 

"  But  would  not  conciliation,  on  your  part,  think  you," 
said  Cantwell,  smiling,  "  tend  to  better  the  social  and  po 
litical  condition  of  the  country  ?  Would  not  the  English 
people  be  brought,  by  such  a  course,  to  entertain,  for  in 
stance,  a  more  favorable  opinion  of  your  religion,  and 
place  it,  perhaps,  on  a  more  equitable  and  surer  footing?" 

"  Not  at  all;  I  believe  conciliation  would  be  useless  and 
unprofitable ;  besides,  if  we  are  permitted  the  free  exer 
cise  of  our  religion,  we  care  not  what  opinion  English  or 
Irish  Protestants,  be  they  in  power  or  otherwise,  may 
form  of  us.  That  is  of  no  moment  whatever  to  us." 

"  Might  it  not  have  the  effect  of  inducing  Protestants 
to  join  your  church  ?  Would  that  not  be  a  great  advan 
tage  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Ellen,  "  an  advantage  ;  but  it  would 
be  all  theirs  ;  we  could  derive  no  advantage  from  their 
conversion.  The  Catholic  Church  regards  neither  your 
conversion  as  an  honor  nor  your  obstinacy  in  teaching 
false  doctrine  as  a  matter  for  sorrow  or  regret,  only  mas- 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  107 

much  as  your  own  eternal  happiness  is  concerned.  She 
would  not  purchase  the  conversion  of  the  King  of  Eng 
land  and  all  his  court,  by  the  obliteration  of  a  single  rubric 
of  her  ritual." 

Cant  well  felt  considerably  annoyed  by  the  calm,  com 
posed,  and  somewhat  careless  manner  in  which  Ellen 
uttered  the  last  sentence.  She  seemed  to  him,  also,  from 
the  tone  of  her  voice,  the  slight  curl  of  her  lip  as  she  ad 
dressed  him,  and  the  indifference  with  which  she  exposed 
the  cross  that  hung  suspended  by  a  small  gold  chain  from 
her  neck,  to  treat  him  with  more  contempt  than  she  ever 
did  before. 

"  And  you,  would  you  not,"  he  said  at  length,  "  con 
sider  it  a  great  advantage  to  have  such  a  convert  as  King 
George,  of  England  ?  I  think  the  Pope  might  cheerfully 
give  all  the  jewels  in  his  tiara,  and  all  the  rubrics  in  his 
ceremonial,  to  boot,  to  purchase  such  a  convert." 

"  The  Church  of  Rome  would  not  abate  a  single  genu 
flection,  to  purchase  all  the  heretical  kings  of  the  earth. 
If  they  wish  to  become  reconciled  —  if  they  promise  to  be 
come  obedient  children,  instead  of  rebels  to  her  authority, 
she  is  willing  and  anxious  to  receive  them :  if  not,  she  will 
have  none  of  them.  She  must  receive  them  as  children  — 
as  babes  who  ask  instruction,  not  as  masters  who  give  it. 
She  will  permit  neither  king  nor  beggar  to  make  con 
ditions  for  their  allegiance  to  her  sovereignty." 

"  Such  an  assumption  of  absolute  control,"  observed 
Cantwell,  now  smarting  under  Ellen's  undisguised  con 
tempt  for  the  paltry  opinions  he  had  been  taught  to  en 
tertain  of  the  Catholic  Church,  "  I  was  about  to  say  such 
despotism  in  religion,  may  do  very  well  in  Italy  and  other 
Catholic  countries  of  Europe,  but  it  won't  do  here.  The 
light  of  truth  has  at  length  shone  brightly  on  these 
islands,  after  a  long  night  of  darkness.  We  sleep  no 
more." 

"  Sleep,"  reiterated  Ellen,  with  evident  emotion ;  "  yes, 


108  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OK 

you  have  slept  the  sleep  you  shall  never  know  again ;  you 
have  slept  placidly  in  the  bosom  of  a  mother  who  loved 
you  as  mother  never  loved  before ;  a  mother  that  guarded 
you  from  danger ;  that  watched  over  you  amid  your  sor 
rows  and  afflictions ;  that  nursed  you,  when  a  child,  with 
the  sweetmeats  of  holy  love,  and  would  have  attended  you 
to  your  grave  with  the  same  unfailing  devotion.  She  was 
a  mother  who  was  first  to  bless  you  as  you  entered  the 
world,  and  the  last  to  leave  you  as  you  departed  from  it. 
It  was  in  her  bosom  you  slept.  All  the  return  she  asked 
for  this  kindness,  was  obedience  to  her  parental  instruc 
tions.  Call  you  that  despotism  ?  No,  sir ;  it  wras  the  un 
restrained  impetuous  tide  of  human  passions  that  carried 
you  away  from  her."  Then,  after  a  pause,  she  said,  "  And 
after  all,  why  should  not  religion  be  —  despotic,  if  you 
love  the  term  5  are  not  all  religions  but  the  Protestant 
despotic  ?  " 

"  Not  as  the  Catholic  religion  is." 

"  Infinitely  more ;  was  there  ever  a  religion  more  des 
potic  than  the  Jewish  ?  the  high-priest  was  the  sole 
authority  in  faith  and  discipline  ;  no  one,  even  the  most 
learned,  dare  refuse  obedience  to  his  injunctions.  Was 
there  ever  anything  more  despotic  than  to  oblige  the  Jews 
to  come  from  beyond  the  mountains  of  Judea,  to  worship 
once  a  year  in  the  temple  of  Jerusalem  ?  Is  not  Mahome- 
tanism  despotic  ?  Is  not  the  religion  of  the  Fakirs,  the 
Hindoos,  the  Bassas,  despotic?" 

"  Granted,"  said  Cantwell,  smiling  at  the  folly  of  intro 
ducing  pagan  worship,  as  a  proof  of  despotism  in  revealed 
religion  ;  "  but  you  will  remember  that  you  speak  now  of 
infidels,  not  of  Christians." 

"Yes,  I  adduce  them  as  examples,  to  prove  to  you  how 
necessary  even  they  believed  absolute  authority  to  be,  in 
order  to  preserve  a  unity  of  belief  and  practice.  Their 
very  instinct  —  if  I  may  so  call  it  —  seems  to  be  superior 
to  your  sophisticated  doctrine  of  liberty  in  religion.  Lib- 


THICKS   UPON   TBAVELLERS.  109 

erty  in  religion,  Mr.  Cantwell,  is  only  another  name  for 
Protestant  infidelity." 

"  I  regret,  madam,  your  opinion  of  Protestantism  is  so 
very  unfavorable,"  said  Cantwell,  affecting  at  the  same 
time  an  indifferent  air,  and  smiling  as  he  spoke ;  "  I'm 
afraid  we  shall  never  agree  on  that  subject." 

"  Whether  or  not,  Mr.  Cantwell,  it's  a  matter  of  but  lit 
tle  consequence  to  the  Church  or  to  society ;  they  know 
little  and  care  less,  perhaps,  what  our  opinions  of  religion 
may  be.  But  you  have  so  often  introduced  subjects  con 
nected  one  way  or  other  with  religion,  that  I  must  now 
candidly  tell  you,  I  am  not  at  all  fond  of  controversy,  and 
would  rather  decline  conversing  on  such  topics.  Besides, 
if  I  were  desirous  of  discussing  such  important  matters,  it 
would  be  only  with  those  who  endeavor  to  practise  what 
they  profess ;  for  then,  Mr.  Cantwell,  I  would  at  least  have 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  I  was  met  neither  by  hypoc 
risy  nor  dissimulation." 

Cantwell's  brow  darkened  for  an  instant,  as  he  observed 
the  equivocal  smile  that  played  on  the  countenance  of  the 
young  lady,  as  she  uttered  these  last  words.  He  felt,  in  a 
moment,  she  had  discovered  the  cold-hearted  villany  he 
practised  on  Mary  Curran.  But  he  was  not  the  man  to 
appear  crestfallen  or  confused  in  woman's  presence. 

"True,  very  true,  Miss  O'Donnell,"  he  replied,  with  a 
little  hesitation,  "but  men  are  mortals,  you  know;  we  are 
not  impeccable — our  faults  and  imperfections  are  beyond 
number." 

"Imperfections!"  repeated  Ellen,  glancing  at  the  agent ; 
"  oh,  we  have  all  our  imperfections  —  I  did  not  mean  that. 
But,  be  it  so,"  she  added,  "  charity  to  the  poor  will  atone 
for  many  of  these  imperfections  you  charge  yourself  with. 
Why  do  you  not  practise  it  more  extensively?" 

"  If  you  mean  corporal  works  of  mercy,"  said  Cantwell, 
u  we  have  done  so  to  a  very  large  extent." 

"  In  this  neighborhood  ?  " 


110  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

"Even  so;  but  we  meet  with  so  much  ingratitude,  late 
ly,  that  really  we  are  becoming  quite  tired  of  the  business. 
The  objects  of  charity  are,  for  the  most  part,  Catholics, 
and  they  are  so  difficult  of — " 

"  Of  conversion,"  added  Ellen,  laughing. 

"  No,  not  exactly ;  but  so  untractable,  that  we  can  make 
nothing  of  them." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  you,  Mr.  Cantwell.  But  you  have  a 
remedy, —  Catholics  will  be  always  untractable  in  your 
hands.  Get  the  priest  to  manage  them.  Give  him  the 
distribution  of  your  charity  funds.  He  knows  best  the 
dispositious  and  wants  of  his  people." 

"  The  priest ! "  repeated  Cantwell,  with  an  affectation  of 
surprise :  "  oh,  no,  Miss  O'Donnell,  you  could  not  suppose 
we  would  co-operate  with  a  priest." 

"  And  why  not,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  exactly.  Why,  to  be  candid  with 
you,  they  are,  in  general,  I  believe,  very  uneducated  men ; 
and  then  —  " 

"  Uneducated !  and  pray,  Mr.  Cantwell,  how  does  that 
happen?  the  Catholic  Church  expends  more  in  educating 
her  clergy,  than  all  the  other  churches  of  the  world  put 
together.  Her  libraries  are  the  most  valuable  in  the  uni 
verse —  the  nations  under  the  spiritual  guidance  of  her 
pastors  are  the  most  polished  and  most  learned  on  the 
face  of  the  globe.  How  then  can  her  priests  be  illiter 
ate  ?  " 

"  With  such  advantages,  it  would  be  difficult  to  tell," 
said  Cantwell,  sneeringly. 

"No,  no,"  replied  Ellen,  now  completely  alive  to  the 
interest  of  the  subject;  "no,  it  is  very  easy  to  tell  why, 
with  all  these  advantages,  you  look  upon  priests  as  igno 
rant  men.  They  are  ignorant,  because  they  have  not 
learned  to  follow  the  fashions  of  the  world  like  the  minis 
ters  of  the  Anglican  Church  —  because,  like  your  Single 
tons  and  Cowpers  of  Belgrave  Square,  they  have  not 


THICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  Ill 

learned  to  pick  up  ladies'  fans,  and  talk  fashionable  scan 
dal  in  drawing-rooms  —  because  they  have  not  learned 
to  keep  race-horses,  powdered  valets,  and  wear  quizzing- 
glasses.  Of  all  these  priests  are  ignorant ;  and  so  far  are 
they  unfit  for  the  society  of  the  age.  But  in  so  much,  also, 
are  they  superior  in  character  to  all  other  clergymen." 

"I  have  been  taught  to  form  a  very  low  estimate  of  the 
character  of  Catholic  priests ;  but  I  am  happy,"  added  he, 
bowing  with  an  ill-concealed  feeling  of  resentment,  "  I  am 
happy  to  find  they  have  found  in  you,  Miss  O'Donnell,  so 
able  and  accomplished  an  advocate." 

Ellen  failed  not  to  perceive  the  bitterness  with  which 
the  words  were  accompanied,  but  she  affected  not  to  notice 
it.  From  the  beginning  she  was  resolved  to  use  no  pre 
caution  to  avoid  irritating  him.  She  even  permitted  her 
self  a  latitude  in  expressing  her  opinions,  which  she  might 
regard  perhaps  as  over  bold  in  another.  She  was  well 
aware  of  the  disregard  he  often  expressed  for  her  among 
the  circles  of  his  acquaintance ;  and  that  it  arose  not  so 
much  from  his  hatred  to  her  creed,  as  from  a  conviction 
that  her  high  and  haughty  spirit  placed  her  far  above  the 
reach  of  his  artifice.  In  accordance,  therefore,  with  these 
thoughts  passing  rapidly  through  her  mind,  she  affected 
not  to  remark  the  sneer  with  which  he  acknowledged  her 
advocacy,  but  pursued  the  subject  still  further  in  the  same 
tone  and  manner. 

"You  say  you  have  been  taught  to  form  but  a  low  esti 
mate  of  the  character  of  Catholic  priests  —  and  I  know  it. 
But  why  do  you  not  travel,* in  order  to  judge  for  yourself 
—  not  depend  on  the  interested  stories  of  your  ministers. 
You  should  travel,  sir,  to  see  and  feel  the  world  around 
you." 

"  And  return,"  said  Cantwell,  laughing,  "  with  my  opin 
ions  still  more  confirmed." 

"  No;  but  return  after  having  left  all  your  coarse  preju 
dices  behind  you.  Stay  but  three  months  in  Italy,  and 


112  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,    OR 

when  you  return  you  will  wonder,  as  many  others  have 
done,  that  such  a  thing  as  Protestantism  could  ever  have 
existed.  Then,  as  regards  the  Catholic  clergy,  you  will  be 
astonished  to  find  how  vastly  superior  they  are  to  the  min 
isters  of  the  English  Church." 

"  In  what  particular,  may  I  ask,  is  this  superiority  so 
manifest  ?  " 

"  Oh,  in  many  —  in  every  respect,  but  perhaps  in  none  so 
remarkably  as  in  their  knowledge  of  revealed  truths,  and 
their  uniform  practice  of  the  duties  of  Christian  charity. 
But  why  should  I  go  abroad  for  examples  in  this  latter 
respect?  You  will  find  Christian  charity  equally  practised 
at  home.  You  have  only  to  look  around,  and  see  the  Cath 
olic  clergy  of  Ireland  resigning  all  earthly  comforts,  the 
better  to  promote  the  spiritual  and  even  temporal  welfare 
of  their  poor  people." 

"Perhaps  so  —  but  if  we  can  judge  from  the  evidence 
of  a  most  distinguished  Catholic  gentleman,  given  not  long 
ago  before  a  high  commission,  these  same  priests,  notwith 
standing  their  spirit  of  abnegation,  would  gladly  accept  a 
government  pension." 

"But  you  cannot  judge  from  his  evidence;  he  gave  his 
own  opinion-,  not  their  sentiments,  and  since  then  he  has 
been  severely  and  justly  reprimanded  for  his  temerity.  Oh, 
no,"  continued  Ellen,  with  more  animation  than  she  had 
shown  hitherto;  " no,  never,  sir,  I  trust,  will  you  see  the 
day  when  the  Irish  Catholic  clergy  will  accept  a  state  pen 
sion  from  an  English  Protestant  government." 

"  Ha  ! "  said  Cantwell ;  "  and  is  it  possible  you  can  be 
averse  to  such  a  measure  ?  " 

"Decidedly  so  —  I  abhor  it ;  for  it  is  not  a  pension,  but 
a  bribe  you  offer  them." 

"  Really,  Miss  O'Donnell,  you  appear  to  take  an  extraor 
dinary  interest  in  the  affairs  of  Ireland  and  the  Catholic 
priests.  You,  who  have  made  your  home  in  foreign  lands, 
might  well  have  forgotten  these  things;  but  I  must  not 
quarrel  with  your  patriotism." 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  113 

"  I  forget! "  repeated  Ellen,  her  eye  moistening,  and  her 
lip  quivering  with  emotion  as  she  spoke ;  "  oh,  no,  I  can 
never  forget.  My  residence,  it  is  true,  is  in  another  land, 
but  this,  sir,  is  my  home.  I  am  still  an  Irish  girl  —  ay, 
every  feeling  of  ray  heart  is  Irish.  I  am  but  an  orphan, 
too,  the  last  of  my  race,  thrown  like  a  beggar  on  the 
world's  charity.  Yes,  rny  ancestors  have  transmitted  to 
me  only  their  misfortunes  as  my  dowry ;  but,  thank  God, 
they  have  left  me  also  some  of  the  old  family  pride,  to 
bear  them  as  it  becomes  my  name  and  my  rank  —  a  name 
that  I  should  ever  regard  as  dishonored  in  my  person  if  I 
could  for  one  moment  forget  the  people  and  priests  of 
Ireland." 

"Oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Cantwell,  in  a  supplicating 
tone  —  "excuse  me:  family  recollections  are  sacred  —  I 
did  not  mean  —  " 

"  Far  too  sacred  indeed,"  replied  Ellen,  "  for  such  a  pres 
ence.  I  speak  not,  sir,  as  the  descendant  of  a  kingly  race. 
I  speak  only  and  feel  as  every  Irishwoman  ought  to  feel. 
And  who  have  preserved  and  kept  together  the  wretched 
remnants  of.  the  liberty  of  this  once  proud  land  ?  The 
priests  of  Ireland.  When  day  after  day  you  have  been 
driving  the  people  to  sedition,  that  you  might  have  a 
pretext  for  treading  out  the  last  spark  of  freedom  that 
remained,  who  stood  between  them  and  the  danger, — 
who  but  the  Catholic  priests  of  Ireland  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  understand,  Miss  O'Donnell ;  you  are  really — " 

"  Understand  !  Mr.  Cantwell,"  repeated  the  enthusiastic 
girl.  "  You  cannot  understand  how  the  clergy  kept  the 
people  from  sedition  ?  Then  I  will  tell  you.  It  was  by 
teaching  them  obedience  in  the  confessional^  when  you 
made  it  treason  to  preach  it  in  the  pulpit.  It  was  by  main 
taining  an  influence  over  their  flocks,  for  holy  and  peaceful 
purposes.  And  that  influence  they  acquired,  sir,  not  by 
gold  or  the  sword,  but  by  ministering  to  their  wants  of 
both  soul  and  body,  —  by  watching  at  the  patient's  bed 


114  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

amidst  poverty  and  disease,  —  by  offering  the  consolations 
of  religion  when  often  the  poison  of  contagion  was  not 
ing  in  their  own  veins,  —  by  journeying  on  foot,  'mid  the 
snows  and  storms  of  winter,  to  their  wretched  hovels,  — 
by  kneeling  on  the  cold,  damp  floor  beside  the  dying  Chris 
tian,  whispering  in  his  ear  the  words  of  comfort  and  hope ; 
and  when  he  had  done  the  last  office  of  his  ministry  — - 
nay,  when  he  had  closed  the  poor  man's  eyes  in  death  — 
by  sharing  with  the  widow  and  the  orphans  his  own  miser 
able  pittance.  Oh  !  sir,  it  is  through  the  power  and  influence 
these  self-sacrificing  ministers  of  God  have  so  dearly  and 
nobly  earned,  that  we  have  yet  some  shadow  of  liberty 
left.  That,  sir,  is  the  Catholic  religion,  pure  and  uncon- 
taminated  by  earthly  thought  as  the  God  that  gave  it. 
That,  sir,  is  my  religion  —  the  religion  of  the  heart  (and 
she  rose  as  she  spoke),  not  cold,  dreamy,  and  philosophical, 
but  warm,  and  full  of  life  bubbling  up  from  the  fountain 
of  Divine  love  within.  Yes,  sir,  that  is  my  religion.  I 
learned  it  here  on  this  soil,  and  care  not  what  name  you 
give  it." 

Ellen  rang  the  bell.  When  the  servant  entered,  she  de 
sired  he  would  request  Miss  Johnston  to  honor  her  with 
her  presence. 

"  You  have  been  unusually  animated  this  evening,  mad 
am,"  said  Cantwell,  not  regarding  the  interruption,  and 
speaking  in  a  low,  subdued  voice ;  "  and  I  admire  your  ad 
vocacy  in  such  a  cause.  But  you  will  permit  me  to  observe, 
that  in  the  warmth  of  your  zeal  you  have  quite  overlooked 
the  extensive  charity  practised  by  the  Protestant  gentry 
of  this  neighborhood.  We  have  clothed  and  fed  the  poor 
of  this  parish  for  the  last  two  years,  at  a  very  considerable 
expense." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  relapsing  again  into  her 
usually  careless  mood,  and  searching  for  something  on  the 
mantel.  "  Certainly,  you  have  dealt  with  the  poor  as  you 
would  with  the  priests." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  115 

"  As  we  would  with  the  priests  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  I  don't  understand,  Miss  O'Donnell." 

"  Oh,  don't  you  ?  Why,  your  wits  are  a  wool-gathering 
to-night.  Well,  then,  I  must  enlighten  you,  Mr.  Cantwell. 
I  meant  that,  as  you  clothed  the  poor  as  an  inducement  to 
make  them  abandon  the  faith  of  their  fathers,  so  would  you 
pension  the  priests  as  a  bribe  to  make  them  desert  the  in 
terests  of  their  country.  Eh,  Mr.  Cantwell,  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

Cantwell  was  about  to  speak,  but  Ellen  interrupted  him. 

"No,  no,  sir,  —  I  shall  not  ask  your  opinion  on  that 
point ;  I  have  already  heard  it  sufficiently  discussed  at 
'  Alton  Towers.'  The  old  earl  is  a  consummate  statesman, 
you  know,  and  almost  as  stanch  a  Catholic  as  myself." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,"  said  Cantwell,  doggedly. 

"  Oh,  of  course  not ;  but  Colonel  Templeton  does." 

"  Very  likely,"  muttered  Cantwell,  suspecting  at  once 
what  she  alluded  to,  but  affecting  to  be  totally  unconcerned. 

"  Why,  you  surely  must  have  heard  of  the  caricatures? 
she  said,  laughing.  "  The  whole  world  has  heard  of  the 
colonel  passing  the  river." 

The  door  opened  ^and  Miss  Johnston  entered. 

"Ellen,  what  have  you  been  saying  to  Mr.  Cantwell?" 
asked  the  lady  as  she  approached.  "  Why,  he  looks  like  a 
rejected  lover,  so  pensive  and  woe-begone ;  and  you  —  you. 
like  a  Belvidera,  with  your  loose,  dark  tresses.  What  has 
happened  ?  " 

«  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Ellen,  playfully.  "  I  was  in  one  of 
my  fits  when  he  came  in  ;  so,  you  know,  he  was  obliged  to 
suffer  as  usual  till  it  passed  over." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?  "  laughed  her  companion.  "  Don't  mind 
the  mad,  wild  creature,  Mr.  Cantwell ;  the  poetry  of  Italy 
and  her  own  native  enthusiasm  together,  have  almost 
made  her  crazy.  We  must  tame  her  spirit  in  this  colder 
climate." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Cantwell,  I  shall  leave  Emily  to  entertain 


116  SHANDY    M'GUIKE,    OR 

you,"  said  Ellen.  "  You  will  find  her,  no  doubt,  a  more 
agreeable  companion."  And  bowing  lightly  and  gracefully, 
she  quitted  the  drawing-room. 

Having  passed  through  the  spacious  entrance-hall  of  the 
mansion,  and  about  to  ascend  the  stairs  to  her  boudoir,  a 
voice  immediately  behind  whispered,  "  Signora." 

She  turned,  and  found  her  confidential  servant,  Mad- 
delena,  whom  she  brought  with  her  from  Florence,  at  her 
side. 

"  Signora,"  whispered  the  Italian,  "  come,  there  is  one  in 
that  little  room  beyond  who  wishes  very  much  to  speak 
with  you." 

"  Is  it  a  message  from  Captain  O'Brien  ?  "  inquired  Ellen, 
following  the  servant  across  the  hall. 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  Maddelena,  "  I  think  it  must  be  from 
Father  Domnick." 

The  room,  at  the  door  of  which  Ellen  stopped  for  a 
moment,  was  dark. 

"  Why  are  there  no  lights  here,  Maddelena  ? "  she  in 
quired. 

But  before  the  maid  could  reply,  a  voice  from  the  centre 
of  the  apartment  said  in  a  well-known  accent,  — 

"  Whisht,  whisht,  Miss  Ellen,  come  in  an'  close  the 
doore  afther  ye." 

.  She  entered  without  further  hesitation,  and  found  her 
self  in  the  presence  of  Shandy  M'Griiire. 

It  is  unnecessary  now  to  relate  to  the  reader  the  con 
versation  that  took  place ;  suffice  it,  for  the  present,  that 
after  having  been  closeted  for  the  space  of  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  both  again  appeared  within  the  open  door  of  the 
dark  room,  and  Shandy  said,  as  he  was  about  to  steal  out,  — 

"  Now,  Miss  Ellen,  don't  for  yer  life  and  sowl  give  him 
the  laste  hint  av  it." 

"  Oh,  trust  me,  Shandy,  I  shall  take  every  precaution  — 
but  as  to  the  ring,  why  that's  utterly  incredible.  Villain 
as  he  is,  he  surely  could  not  —  " 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  117 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Shandy,  interrupting  her,  "  sure  ye'll 
jidge  for  yerself ;  but  don't  tell  a  livin'  creather  about  it, 
barrin'  the  captain  an'  Father  Domnick ;  an'  now  God  be 
with  ye,  Miss  Ellen,  for  I  must  hurry  on  to  Tubbernasig- 
gart."  Shandy  disappeared. 

Ellen  hastened  to  her  boudoir,  and  having  adjusted  her 
dishevelled  hair  as  quickly  as  possible,  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  found  Cantwell  preparing  to  take  his 
leave. 

"Going  so  soon,  Mr.  Cantwell?"  said  Ellen,  tripping 
lightly  across  the  room,  and  leaning  her  arm  on  Miss  John 
ston's  shoulder  :  "  to  the  Orange  Lodge,  perhaps  ;  is  there 
not  to  be  a  meeting  of  the  committee  there  to-night  ?  " 

"  So  I'm  informed,"  replied  Cantwell ;  "  but  I  can't  at 
tend.  I  have  some  urgent  business  to  manage  before  ten 
o'clock." 

"  To-night ! "  inquired  Ellen,  with  feigned  surprise. 

"This  very  night  — the  business  is  both  urgent  and  im 
portant.  I  assure  you,  ladies  (and  he  spoke  with  the  seri 
ous  air  of  the  'official'),  I  assure  you,  the  duties  which  we 
agents  have  to  perform  are  often  very  disagreeable  —  very, 
indeed ;  think  of  being  obliged  to  ride  eight  or  ten  miles 
such  a  dark  night." 

Ellen  fixed  her  eyes  for  an  instant  on  the  cold,  dark, 
hypocritical  face  of  the  agent.  It  was  a  look  that  at  once 
spoke  unutterable  contempt  for  the  man,  and  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  his  infamous  designs.  He  raised  his  right 
hand,  and  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  but  Ellen  could 
see  no  ring  upon  it. 

"  You  will  be  caught  in  a  storm,  if  you  ride  out  to-night," 
said  Ellen,  carelessly. 

"  Storm  !  "  ejaculated  Cantwell. 

"  I  really  think  so ;  I  may  possibly  be  mistaken  ;  but  it 
would  seem  to  me  the  storm  is  about  to  break  over  your 
head." 

"  Why,  Ellen,  you  cannot  be  serious,"  said  Miss  Johnston. 


118  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,   OR 

"  Time  will  tell ;  I  have  just  been  looking  out,  and  the 
clouds  are  dark  and  lowering.  But  to-morrow  will  decide," 
she  added,  playfully ;  "  then  you  will  see  whether  I  have 
entirely  forgotten  the  signs  of  approaching  storm  in  my 
native  skies.  If  it  do  fall  upon  you,  Mr.  Cantwell,  re 
member  the  warning." 

The  gentleman  took  his  leave,  and  returned  to  the 
"  Moor." 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  119 


CHAPTER    IX. 

CONTAINING  AN   IRISH    RECEIPT   FOR   COOLING    THE  BLOOD. 

WE  shall  not  stop  now  to  inform  the  reader  when  Mr. 
Cantwell  left  the  Moor,  but  at  once  proceed  with  our  story, 
and  that  gentleman,  to  the  humble  homestead  of  old  Jem- 
mie  Connor,  of  Tubbernasiggart. 

Since  his  interview  with  the  little  blind  man  in  the  brown 
overcoat,  Cantwell  turned  over  in  his  mind  very  often  the 
circumstances  attending  that  meeting.  But  now,  as  he 
rode  quietly  along  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  and  on  the 
most  unfrequented  road  leading  from  the  village,  he  had 
more  leisure  to  review  them.  There  was,  certainly,  some 
thing  about  the  affair  which  a  prudent,  cautious  man  would 
call  suspicious  —  sufficiently  so,  at  least,  to  require  care 
and  circumspection.  But  the  truth  is,  Cantwell's  grosser 
passions  carried  him  frequently  beyond  his  prudence.  If 
he  ever  paused  to  consider  the  danger  or  the  difficulties 
into  which  his  vicious  inclinations  led  him,  it  was  not  with 
the  intention  of  avoiding  them,  but  rather  to  fortify  him 
self  with  the  consciousness  of  possessing  means  sufficient 
to  obviate  them  in  any  emergency.  Like  many  others  in 
his  sphere  of  life,  he  had,  notwithstanding  his  apparent 
disregard  of  public  censure,  a  great  dread  of  detection  and 
exposure,  if  he  happened  to  be  unsuccessful  in  his  in 
trigues  ;  but  let  him  once  gain  his  point,  no  matter  at  what 
sacrifice  of  virtue  or  of  honor,  and  he  gloried  in  his  victory, 
like  Courtall  in  the  Belle's  Stratagem. 

In  his  convivial  hours  with  his  intimates,  he  spared  no 


120  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,    OR 

woman's  reputation  —  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  innocent 
or  guilty,  they  were  all  alike  in  his  estimation.  Female 
chastity,  as  he  often  expressed  it,  was  a  beautiful  idea; 
but  then  it  was  only  an  idea  —  it  had  no  actual  existence. 
Every  mortal,  according  to  him,  was  but  the  creature  of 
circumstances  —  governed  by  impulses,  weak  or  strong,  as 
nature  happened  to  bestow  them,  and  which  it  was  a  folly 
or  an  impossibility  to  resist.  Innate  love  of  virtue  was 
but  a  deception.  Conventional  forms  and  manners  of  so 
ciety  gave  it  an  existence  only  in  the  fancy.  Man  was 
created  for  pleasure  —  not  for  self-denial.  To  subjugate 
his  passions  was  an  outrage  against  himself;  but  still,  as 
the  decencies  of  social  life  deserved  respect,  it  became  a 
matter  of  prudence  and  discretion  to  confine  them  within 
certain  limits,  merely  for  the  preservation  of  order  in  the 
community,  but  with  no  higher  aim.  Certain  acts  were 
called  vicious,  others  virtuous,  merely  because  the  present 
order  of  society  required  such  a  doctrine  to  be  taught ; 
but  if  chance  had  organized  society  in  another  form,  it 
might  have  happened  that  virtue  and  vice  would  have 
changed  their  correlative  significations.  If,  therefore,  he 
sinned  against  public  morals  and  was  detected,  let  the 
public  punish  him  for  a  breach  of  its  rules,  or  its  etiquette ; 
but  why  should  conscience,  or  whatever  else  it  might  be 
called,  be  suffered  to  reproach  him  for  his  conduct  ? 

Religion,  too,  had  certain  duties,  and  he  endeavored  to 
perform  them  to  what  he  considered  a  reasonable  extent. 
Religion  he  thought  a  very  excellent  thing  in  its  own  way. 
Without  a  due  respect  for  its  precepts,  society  would  soon 
be  disorganized,  and  that  would  be  a  serious  evil.  It  was 
a  powerful  auxiliary  to  the  laws.  Without  its"  sanction, 
laws  would  be  ineffective  of  their  aims  and  objects,  and 
his  own  authority  incompetent  to  the  discharge  of  his 
office.  Besides,  to  spend  an  hour  or  so  at  church  on  a 
Sunday,  was  a  very  agreeable  manner  of  whiling  away 
the  time ;  it  was  a  kind  of  recreation  —  a  sort  of  relief 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  121 

after  the  toil  and  trouble  of  the  week.  Nor  had  he  the 
least  difficulty  in  finding  a  form  of  religion  that  suited  him. 
He  had  it  at  his  hand.  High-church  Protestantism,  in 
which  he  was  born,  was  quite  sufficient  for  all  practical 
purposes.  Stripped  of  the  little  asceticism  that  lingered 
about  it  till  the  Revolution,  it  was  now  a  pleasant  religion 
to  profess.  It  had  none  of  the  acerbities  of  the  Noncon 
formists,  or  the  self-denial  of  the  Catholics,  to  scare  him 
from  its  adoption  or  its  practice.  As  a  dominant  law- 
religion,  it  gave  him  power  to  persecute  its  opponents. 
Professing  to  hold  a  less  rigorous  code  of  morals,  it  re 
quired  him  to  restrain  but  few  of  his  vicious  propensities. 
As  a  creed,  it  flattered  him  in  the  high  estimate  he  had 
formed  of  his  intellectual  powers ;  it  encouraged  him  in 
the  belief  that  he  was  at  perfect  liberty  to  choose  any 
doctrine  of  faith  or  rule  of  conduct,  provided  he  could 
squeeze  out  of  the  wide  range  of  revelation  a  pretext  for 
its  adoption.  A  religion  like  this  presented,  neither  to  his 
mind  nor  his  senses,  a  single  difficulty.  It  required  no 
submission  from  the  one,  nor  denial  of  gratification  from 
the  other.  Unencumbered  by  burden  and  unfettered  by 
restraint,  he  could  travel  at  his  own  pace,  fast  or  slow,  up 
and  down  the  hill  of  life,  just  as  fancy  led  him  or  impulse 
drove  him  on. 

Such,  reader,  was  the  doctrine,  and  such  the  sentiments 
and  feelings  that  actuated  Mr.  Archibald  Cant  well.  He 
was  not  alone,  however,  in  his  views  of  religion  or  his  esti 
mate  of  the  human  virtues.  By  no  means.  If  he  were, 
we  never  should  have  dreamt  of  giving  him  a  place  in 
your  thoughts.  No ;  he  was  only  one  out  of  two  thirds 
of  the  English  Protestants  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland, 
from  his  own  rank  upwards.  This  is  no  exaggeration  —  it 
is  fact  —  a  terrible,  deplorable  fact.  It  is  the  result  of 
men's  pride  in  claiming  a  freedom  in  judging  for  them 
selves  in  the  important  affair  of  religion.  It  is  the  natural 
result  of  Protestantism.  It  is,  in  a  word,  the  result  of  a 


122  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OR 

system  of  ethics  conceived  and  developed  under  the  influ 
ence  of  the  human  passions.  He  who  becomes  acquainted 
with  life  in  London  will  readily  acknowledge  the  truth  of 
all  this.  In  the  upper  ranks  he  will  discover  a  total  disre 
gard  for  religion  and  its  most  sacred  ordinances  hidden 
under  the  veil  of  a  prudent  reserve  or  an  ostentatious 
charity.  He  will  see  the  elegant  and  accomplished  count 
ess,  after  a  night's  dissipation,  perhaps  after  having  lost  or 
won  a  moderate  fortune  at  the  card-table,  driving  in  a 
splendid  equipage  to  a  religious  society  meeting,  and 
thence  to  the  Virginia  courts,  Ded  ham-place  or  St.  Giles- 
alleys  to  distribute  consolation  in  the  shape  of  tracts  and 
Bibles  to  the  destitute,  starving  poor.  He  will  find  her 
husband  driving  from  Burlington  Arcade  with  rich  pres 
ents  to  his  dear  friend  in  Hanover-square,  and  after  spend 
ing  an  hour  in  infamous  dalliance,  proceed  to  Lincolns- 
Inn-Fields,  and  contribute  his  monthly  donation  to  the 
funds  for  the  support  of  the  Magdalen  asylums.  He  will 
see  the  infidel  —  the  scoffer  of  Christianity  in  Belgrave- 
square  —  become  the  champion  of  religion  in  Westmin 
ster.  In  short,  there  is  nothing  there  to  be  seen  but  a 
continual  endeavor  to  maintain  an  outward  show  of  re 
spect  for  the  law  of  God,  without  a  single  feeling  of  re 
morse  for  its  secret  violation.  Still  it  may  be  said,  that 
low  vice  is  as  common  in  Catholic  as  in  Protestant  cities. 
But  it  is  not  the  fact,  if  we  except  the  city  of  Paris  alone. 
Perhaps  all  the  other  Catholic  cities  of  Europe  put  to 
gether  could  not  produce,  as  London  does,  the  enormous 
aggregate  of  75,000  prostitutes  and  60,000  street-robbers, 
not  to  speak  of  any  other  item  of  its  vices.  And  why 
should  Paris  be  an  exception,  only  from  its  contiguity  to 
London  ?  The  extraordinary  disproportion  that  exists 
between  Paris  and  the  other  cities  of  Catholic  Europe,  in 
their  calendars  of  crime  (allowing  even  for  its  excess  of 
population)  is  a  sufficient  proof  that  its  proximity  to  Lon 
don  has  been  the  cause  of  its  immorality.  Besides,  in 


TEICKS   UPON   TKAVELLERS.  123 

Catholic  cities  immorality  is  never  the  result  of  doubts 
about  the  faith  or  precepts  of  God  or  of  the  church ;  in 
Protestant  cities,  if  they  be  not  the  impelling,  they  are  at 
least  the  predisposing  cause.  A  true  Catholic  can  never 
doubt,  without  losing  the  spirit  of  his  religion ;  a  Protes 
tant  may  and  does,  because  it  is  his  right  and  his  privilege 
to  do  so.  A  Catholic  perseveres  in  crime  through  a  feel 
ing  of  reckless  despair ;  a  Protestant  through  a  hope  of 
selfjustification.  If  a  Catholic  remain  a  sinner  after  his 
fall,  it  is  because  he  has  abused  the  holy  sacraments  of  his 
religion,  and  fears  he  can  never  make  sufficient  reparation  ; 
but  the  Protestant,  who  has  no  holy  things  to  abuse,  can 
feel  comparatively  easy  —  he  has  no  horrors  of  conscience 
to  annoy  him.  Every  step  the  Catholic  takes  through  life, 
God  is  about  and  around  him :  he  sees  him,  face  to  face, 
in  all  the  mysteries  and  sacraments  of  his  religion.  The 
Protestant  sees  him  only  at  a  distance,  under  the  vague, 
undefined  shadows  of  revelation.  Hence  it  is  evident, 
from  this  simple  view  of  the  general  features  of  the  Prot 
estant  and  Catholic  religions,  that  the  former  leads  to 
rationalism  and  infidelity,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  while 
the  latter  takes  an  opposite  direction  as  a  matter  of  neces 
sity,  induced  by  the  very  nature  of  its  conservative  doc 
trine  and  uniform  practice. 

But  to  return.  Why  was  Cantwell  not  satisfied  with 
simply  adhering  to  his  own  standard  of  religion?  Why 
did  he  suffer  his  religious  opinions  to  influence  his  conduct 
as  a  public  man  ?  Why  did  he  persecute  others  for  their 
religious  opinions  or  practices  ?  The  answer  is  very  easy : 
because,  simply,  they  did  believe  and  practise  a  severer 
religion  than  his  own.  Precisely  so.  Was  it  not  intoler 
able  to  be  obliged  to  hold  intercourse  with  a  people  whose 
lives  were  devoted  to  the  performance  of  the  most  austere 
duties  of  self-denial,  so  prominently  enjoined  in  that  very 
Book  which  he  chose  as  his  guide  ?  Was  it  not  mortify 
ing  to  see  himself  surrounded  by  a  people  whose  high 


124  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,    OR 

estimate  of  religion,  and  particularly  of  the  social  and 
domestic  virtues,  was  a  continual  reproach  on  the  latitu- 
dinarianism  he  had  practised  —  by  a  people  whose  horror 
of  immorality  was  a  perpetual  check  on  the  impetuosity 
of  his  passions  ?  Rather  might  it  be  said,  why  should  he 
not  persecute  such  a  people  ?  —  why  not  make  every  effort 
to  blot  out  the  hateful  contrast  between  vice  in  himself 
and  virtue  in  others,  by  lowering  down  every  higher  stan 
dard  of  morality  to  a  level  with  his  own  ?  How  else  can 
we  account  for  persecution  at  his  hands,  and  the  millions 
of  others  whom  he  represents,  who  care  nothing  for  reli 
gion  of  any  kind  —  Protestant  more  than  Catholic  —  only 
in  as  much  as  the  former  is  pleasanter  to  practise,  and 
more  aristocratic  to  profess.  The  greater  glory  of  God, 
in  whose  existence  they  scarcely  believe,  or  man's  salva 
tion,  which  they  regard  as  a  phantom,  could  be  no  object 
of  solicitude  to  them.  Envy  of  a  purer  morality,  not 
hatred  of  false  doctrine,  is  the  impelling  cause  of  Prot 
estant  persecution,  at  least  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten.  Is  it 
not  from  a  similar  feeling  that  the  detractor  endeavors  to 
tarnish  the  reputation  of  his  neighbor,  and  the  murderer 
on  the  scaffold  becomes  the  accuser  of  his  accomplice  ? 

By  such  sentiments  were  the  mind  and  senses  of  Arch 
ibald  Cantwell  influenced  in  his  rounds  of  official  and 
social  duties.  Yet  in  the  politer  circles  of  life  in  which  he 
sometimes  found  himself,  he  knew  well  how  to  keep  his 
passions  under  restraint ;  there  he  was  the  man  of  the 
world;  that  is,  in  other  words,  neither  a  sinner  nor  a 
saint,  but  one  who  assumed  a  reasonable  share  of  both 
qualities.  He  found  this  character  the  easiest  to  sustain 
—  nothing  could  be  more  convenient.  He  could  drop  the 
sinner  and  assume  the  saint,  or  vice  versa,  as  circumstances 
might  require.  But  we  have  digressed. 

Cantwell  rode  on  in  the  direction  of  Tubbernasiggart, 
at  a  moderate  pace,  for  it  wanted  some  twenty  minutes  of 
the  appointed  hour,  and  he  was  now  within  a  short  dis- 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  125 

tance  of  the  mill.  He  dreaded  detection,  should  he  be 
compelled  to  await  long  the  appearance  of  Mary  Connor, 
and  resolved,  therefore,  not  to  anticipate  a  single  moment 
of  the  time  agreed  upon.  Again  and  again  he  thought 
over  the  interview  at  the  old  castle.  "  Hudy  M'Gettigan," 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "  Hudy  M'Gettigan  —  humph  !  I 
never  heard  of  the  man  particularly.  There  are  M'Getti- 
gans,  I  believe,  on  the  other  estate,  but  I  don't  know 
them.  Well,  well  —  he  is  easy  found  if  he  played  me 
false.  And  yet  he  was  devilish  like  that  scoundrel  Shandy 
M'Guire,  only  for  the  impediment  in  his  speech,  and  the 
loss  of  the  eye.  But  such  a  love-letter  —  ha,  ha !  such  a 
letter !  shoemaker's  wax  and  a  thimble  —  devil  a  less.  It 
should  be  sent  to  the  Dublin  Museum,  and  kept  with  the 
Queen  Anne  farthings,  in  the  cabinet  of  curiosities.  Oh  ! 
it  would  be  such  a  lasting  evidence  of  Irish  female  virtue. 
Ill  be  at  the  mill  at  10,  not  for  any  harm.  Oh,  not  at 
all  —  no,  no,  of  course  not.  Irish  chastity — excellent! 
What  a  laugh  I  shall  have  when  I  meet  Goodsoul,  and  tell 
him  what  a  fool  she  made  of  him,  after  all  his  cleverness 
at  intrigue.  When  I  get  among  my  own  'set,'  and  pro 
duce  this  letter  of  assignation,  by  George!  they  never  will 
survive  the  reading  of  it  —  if  we're  to  be  married,  if  II  be 
afore  the  wurl.  Capital  !  But  the  priest  will  forgive  her, 
to  be  sure.  She  can  afford  now  to  pay  him  for  absolution 
for  twelve  months  to  come.  That  receipt  is  worth  all  the 
papist  chastity  in  the  parish.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  —  the  father's 
danger  soon  brought  the  daughter's  honor  to  the  market. 
Honor !  —  oh,  confound  the  less  it  is  now,  the  devil's  in 
their  impudence  —  honor !  And  there's  Miss  O'Donnell  — 
paugh !  her  national  pride  sickens  me  —  she's  as  poor  as 
Job,  and  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  Her  father,  driven  from  the 
country  a  beggar,  goes  over  to  Florence,  becomes  a 
painter,  and  sends  her  back  to  us  again,  after  a  few  years, 
with  all  the  family  pride,  from  Ned  of  Larkfield  up  to 
Hugh  Roe,  stuck  in  her  gizzard ;  and  the  haughty  dame 


126  SHANDY   M'GULRE,    OB, 

frowned  on  me  when  I  interrupted  her  music  this  evening, 
as  a  sultana  would  on  her  slave.  Never  mind,  I'll  find 
some  means  of  taming  her  pride.  Ha !  a  storm  would 
burst  over  my  head,  she  feared.  How  very  solicitous  about 
me  —  very,  indeed." 

Here  his  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  a  flash  of  light, 
at  apparently  but  a  little  distance  before  him.  "  Humph  ! " 
said  he,  drawing  up  the  reins  of  the  bridle,  "  that's  a  sig 
nal,  —  by  George  it  is  —  and  from  the  mill  too."  He  ac 
cordingly  dismounted  and  tied  the  horse  in  the  corner  of 
a  field  at  some  distance  from  the  road. 

The  night  was  now  pitchy  dark,  and  so  still  that  not  a 
withered  leaf  rustled  on  the  trees  beside  him.  The  light 
again  appeared  for  an  instant.  He  saw  it,  and  crept  up 
as  stealthily  as  an  assassin  to  the  spot,  muttering  as  he 
went,  "  Ay,  that's  the  signal  —  now's  the  time,  and  here's 
the  man." 

When  he  had  reached  within  a  few  yards  of  the  build 
ing,  he  saw  the  light  again  appear  in  a  female's  hand, 
through  the  aperture  in  the  gable  of  the  mill,  where  the 
axle  connects  the  inner  with  the  outer  wheel  (the  wheels 
were  removed  to  undergo  some  repair),  and  creeping 
up  sufficiently  near  to  be  heard,  he  said  in  a  low,  stealthy 
voice,  — 

"  Mary,  is  it  you  ?  " 

"  The  password  !  what's  the  password  ?  "  whispered  a 
voice  from  within. 

"  Cupid,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Misther  Archibal  ?  " 

"  Your  own  Archy." 

"  Oh,  I'm  dyin'  for  fear,"  said  Mary. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  said  Cantwell,  encouragingly. 

"  Oh  !  'am  thrimblin',  Mr.  Archibal,  'am  thrimblin'  with 
fear." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  said  Cantwell.  "  Can  I  get  into  the 
mill?" 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  127 

"  Oh !  no,  no,"  whispered  Mary  with  earnestness.  "  No, 
yet  a  minit.  Stop,  whisht !  there's  some  one  comin'.  6lo 
back  —  go  back,  Mr.  Archibal,  or  we'll  be  ketched.  Go 
back  there  to  the  corner." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Behind  where  the  wheel  was." 

"  It's  wet,  but  I'll  try.  Now  see,  is  there  any  one  com 
ing?" 

"  Whisht !  I'll  steal  out  an'  listen.  Don't  stir  from  that 
for  yer  life,"  said  Mary,  as  she  stepped  noiselessly  back 
into  the  building. 

Cantwell  had  retreated  from  the  aperture  till  his  back 
rested  against  the  breastwork  of  the  dam,  and  he  stood 
now  bolt  upright,  like  a  soldier  on  drill.  He  had  not, 
however,  been  fixed  in  that  position  more  than  a  few  min 
utes,  shivering  with  cold  (for  the  water  in  which  he  stood 
was  running  ovej*  his  ankles),  and  equally  as  much  with 
fear,  perhaps,  at  the  danger  of  discovery,  when  he  heard 
Mary  Connor  again  repeat  the  password  directly  above 
where  he  stood. 

"Cupid!" 

«  Angel ! " 

"Keep  close,  'am  afeerd  some  one  'ill  see  ye.  Keep 
close,  for  yer  life." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Cantwell,  "my  feet  are  cold  and  wet 
—  but  no  matter." 

"  Whusper,  Mr.  Archibal." 

«  What,  my  angel  ?  " 

"  Sure,  ye'll  niver  spake  i*  this  ?" 

"  Never  —  never !  " 

"Well,  remimber  ye  promised." 

"  I  would  sooner  die  than  speak  of  it." 

"  But  you  tould  of  Mary  Curran,  Mr.  Archibal." 

"  Oh,  Mary  Curran !  but  you  know  what  she  was." 

"  Well,  well,  Misther  Archibal,  I  always  thought  she  was 
an  innacint  creathur,  so  I  did,  an'  that  ye'd  clear  her  afore 
the  wurl." 


128  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

w  I  couldn't  perjure  myself,  Mary,  dear." 

"An'  whusper,  Mister  Archibal.  Didn't  she  die  inna- 
cint? —  every  one  says  she  did  —  now  tell  me  the  thruth." 

"  Oh,  I  must  not  tell  secrets,  Mary ;  you  would  hate  me 
if  I  did." 

"  She  was  a  cousin  i'  mine,  Mr.  Archibal,  and  I'd  lake 
to  be  sure  —  I'd  lake  to  hear  it  from  yer  own  lips.  Was 
she  innacint  or  guilty  ?  —  say,  Mr.  Archibal." 

"  Guilty,"  said  the  defamer  of  the  dead. 

"Lyin'  dog  of  a  Sassenagh!"  cried  the  high-spirited 
girl.  "  She'd  scorn  the  deed,  an'  now  'am  here  to  avenge 
her." 

The  first  words  had  scarcely  broken  from  her  lips,  when 
she  drew  up  the  gate  of  the  sluice,  and  the  water  rushed 
down,  sweeping  the  unfortunate  Cantwell,  with  the  im 
petuosity  of  an  Alpine  torrent,  tumbling  and  tossing  into 
the  river  below.  An  instant  before  the  .sluice  opened,  he 
felt  he  was  betrayed,  and  attempted  to  leap  on  the  rocks 
above  the  water-course  ;  but  it  was  too  late.  Then  a  wild, 
deafening  cheer  rose  from  behind  the  mill,  that  almost 
drowned  the  noise  of  the  rushing  water,  accompanied  by 
a  sudden  glare  of  torch-light  that  revealed  to  half  a  dozen 
of  laughing  faces  on  the  river's  brink,  the  gallant  of  the 
night,  the  accomplished  and  aristocratic  Archibald  Cant- 
well,  holding  on  with  the  grasp  of  death  to  an  arm  of  an  old 
tree  that  lay  across  the  breast  of  the  foaming  flood.  He 
rose  and  sank  as  the  branch  yielded  to  his  desperate  efforts 
to  gain  the  opposite  shore,  his  hat  rolling  down  in  the 
stream,  and  his  long,  glossy,  black  hair  floating  on  the 
surface  to  and  fro,  like  a  mermaid's  on  her  native  ele 
ment. 

"  Hould  on !  —  hould  on,  my  darling  Cupid ! "  shouted  a 
well-known  voice ;  "  hould  on  mavourneen  asthore.  Shure 
it's  on  beds  of  rosees  ye  ought  to  lie,  instid  i'  the  cowld 
wather." 

"  Oh !  for  the  love  of  heaven  relieve  me,"  cried  Cant- 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  129 

well,  in  an  agony  of  despair.  "  Don't  let  me  die  in  this 
way.  Oh  —  oh !  "  he  ejaculated,  as  the  water  rushed,  and 
the  branch  bent  with  his  efforts. 

"  Och,  now,  yer  honor,  Misther  Archy,  dear,  don't  be  on- 
aisy;  shure  here  I  am,  yer  own  Hudy  M'Gettigan,  an' 
Mary  Connor,  an'  ivery  one  that  loves  ye  for  a  good,  lib 
eral,  modest  creathur,  and  a  frien'  to  the  poor  Catholics, 
lake  yer  own  father  afore  ye  —  don't  be  onaisy,  acushla, 
don't  asthore." 

"  Are  ye  Christians  ?  "  shouted  Cantwell ;  "  have  ye  no 
mercy  ?  " 

"  Christians !  Oh,  bad  luck  to  the  one  dear ;  we're  all 
only  papishes,  iver  mother's  son  av  us." 

"  Save  my  life !  — save  my  life,  for  mercy's  sake  ! "  ejacu 
lated  Cantwell,  almost  suffocated  with  the  foam  that  had 
gathered  around  his  head.  "  Save  me,  for  God's  sake  — • 
I'm  sinking ! " 

"Yer  honor  was  right;  ye  wur  sayin'  ye'd  want  me 
again  so  ye  wur,"  continued  Hudy,  in  the  same  impertur 
bable  tone  of  withering  sarcasm;  "and  shure  here  I  am, 
yer  own  poor  Hudy,  as  well  known  as  a  bad  halfpenny. 
But  och,  och,  ochone !  isn't  it  myself  has  the  sore,  sore 
heart  this  blissed  night,  seein'  ye  there  cowld  an'  wet,  an' 
can't  be  as  much  as  the  laste  taste  av  sarvice  to  you,  an' 
poor  Mary  Curran's  ghost  —  och,  only  jist  think  av  that, 
yer  honor  —  pray  in' to  us  this  minit,  I'll  warrint,  to  help 
ye  in  the  amplish  that  yer  in." 

"  Heave  him  a  rope !  "  thundered  a  commanding  voice 
from  behind ;  and  instantly  the  tramp  of  men  and  the 
clang  of  fire-arms  were  heard  ringing  on  the  bank  beside 
the  laughing  group. 

"Captain  O'Brien!  Captain  O'Brien!  Put  out  the' 
lights  and  fly ! "  was  now  heard  on  all  sides. 

"  Men,  guard  the  prisoners  —  let  not  a  light  be  extin 
guished  —  let  none  escape  —  on  your  lives  I  command  it ! " 
9 


130  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

cried  the  young  officer,  considerably  excited.  "  Bring  a 
rope  —  a  rope,  or  he's  lost." 

But  the  order  was  unnecessary.  Mary  Connor,  whose 
gentle  heart  could  no  longer  entertain  a  feeling  of  revenge 
against  her  enemy,  now  so  signally  punished,  came  running 
breathless,  carrying  a  line,  and  exclaiming  as  she  ap 
proached,  — 

"  Here  —  here,  take  this  one  av  ye  —  take  this  and  save 
him.  God  may  change  his  heart — he  may  repent.  But 
what's  this  ?  "  continued  the  affrighted  girl,  suddenly  chan 
ging  her  voice  when  she  perceived  the  officer  and  his  men, 
whose  arms  and  breastplates  shone  brightly  in  the  torch 
light.  "  Oh,  hierna !  it's  the  sodgers."  And  the  timid 
creature  shrunk  back  fearful  and  ashamed  in  the  presence 
of  the  strangers. 

"  A  girl,  by  Jove  !  "  said  O'Brien  ;  "  there's  mischief 
here  —  and  Shandy  too  —  by  all  that's  mischievous  it  is. 
What,  sir,"  he  demanded,  stepping  over  to  the  pretended 
Hudy,  now  engaged  in  hauling  Cantwell  across  the  stream, 
and  laying  his  hand  roughly  on  the  collar  of  his  coat. 
"  Why  are  you  here,  sir  ?  What's  the  meaning  of  this 
outrage?" 

"  Outrage ! "  repeated  Shandy,  lifting  his  hat  to  the 
officer  with  one  hand,  while  he  held  the  line  with  the 
other.  "  Ough  no,  captain !  it's  not  that  bad  ;  it's  only  a 
raceipt  for  coolin'  the  blood." 

"  But  what's  the  meaning  of  this  villany  ?  —  answer  me, 
sir,"  again  demanded  O'Brien. 

"  Ough !  nothin'  out  i'  the  way,  yer  honor ;  only  a  thrifle 
av  sport  —  it's  a  way  we  have  down  here." 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  —  speak,  villain !  " 

"Begorra,  myself  disn't  know  yit,"  persisted  Shandy, 
without  betraying  the  least  visible  emotion,  and  pulling 
with  as  much  unconcern  as  if  a  log  of  timber  were  attached 
to  the  line.  "  Begorra,  myself  disn't  know  yit,  till  we  land 
him,  whether  he's  a  salmon  or  a  yub-dugh  (black  trout). 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  131 

Ned,"  continued  he,  addressing  a  comrade;  "Ned  avic, 
give  the  captain  a  gaff,  till  he  helps  to  land  the  creathur 
dacently."  And  Cantwell  at  length  was  drawn  ashore  in 
sensible. 

"Will  we  rowl  the  wather  out  iv  him,  yer  honor?"  in 
quired  Shandy,  looking  up  in  the  face  of  the  officer  with  a 
countenance  as  grave  and  solemn  as  Sir  Robert  Inglis, 
before  the  University. 

"Hold!"  cried  O'Brien,  stooping  over  the  exhausted 
Cantwell,  now  stretched  at  his  full  length  in  the  centre  of  a 
circle  of  grinning  faces,  and  turning  his  head  to  a  horizon 
tal  position.  "  Hold !  bring  the  light  nearer.  Who  is  he  ? 
What  —  powers  of  earth  !  —  it's  Cantwell !  —  Cantwell, 
by  all  that's  horrible!  How  is  this,  sir?  —  answer  me, 
M'Guire  —  villain !  answer  me  directly." 

"  Tare-an-ages,  yer  honor  —  shure  it  was  fishin'  he  came, 
an'  fell  in." 

"  Fishing  !  ye  scoundrel." 

"Deil  a  hap'orth  else,  captain;  begorra  'ill  take  my  oath 
av  it." . 

"  Angling,  ye  villain,  at  night,  and  such  a  dark  nteht  as 
this?" 

"  To  be  sure  ;  faith,  the  fish  he  wants  ketches  best  in  the 
dark." 

The  captain  collared  him,  enraged  at  not  receiving  a 
direct  answer  to  his  oft-repeated  question ;  but  Shandy's 
tone  and  manner  were  still  the  same. 

"  Bad  scran  to  the  word  lie  'am  tellin'  ye,  captain,"  he 
continued.  "It  was  fishin'  he  was,  an'  the  throut  tuck  the 
bait  unknownst  to  him  some  way,  an'  pulled  him  in ;  may 
I  be  Lord  Chancellor,  if  it  isn't  as  thrue  as  'am-teHm'  it. 
The  throut  pulled  him  in  while  ye'd  wink.  The  throuts 
hereabouts  have  the  quarest  ways  with  them  — they're  the 
divilishest  throuts  that  iver  —  " 

"  Silence,  you  villain !  "  shouted  O'Brien,  driving  the  im 
perturbable  Shandy  out  of  the  circle  with  a  violence  that 


132  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

threatened  to  immerse  him  also  in  the  river.  "It's  hanged 
you'll  be  yet  for  your  damnable  tricks  —  you're  never  out 
of  mischief." 

"Hanged!  "repeated  Shandy,  returning  again  and  mixing 
with  the  excited  group.  "Hanged  !  oh,  feen  a  bit  fear  av  it, 
captain  dear;  the  M'Guires  niver  were  given  to  them  high 
airs :  it  disn't  shute  them  these  hard  times.  But  listen  to 
me  —  whusper  a  minit,  Mr.  O'Brien."  And  he  took  the 
officer  aside,  and  communicated,  in  as  few  words  as  possi 
ble,  the  cause  of  the  unlucky  adventure.  When  the  officer 
found  how  matters  stood,  he  burst  into  an  uncontrollable 
fit  of  laughter. 

"  Sergeant,"  said  he,  "  release  the  prisoners,  and  move 
homewards  —  I  shall  follow  you  in  a  moment." 

When  Cantwell  recovered  his  senses,  he  raised  himself 
to  a  sitting  posture,  rubbed  his  eyes  like  one  just  starting 
from  a  sound  sleep,  and  looked  about  him  in  extreme  be 
wilderment.  But  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen  —  all  was 
still  as  death  —  not  a  sound  came  to  break  the  lonely  si 
lence:  even  the  sluice  had  ceased  to  send  forth  its  noisy 
tide.  He  started  to  his  feet,  raised  his  hand  to  feel  for  his 
hat ;  but  it  was  gone.  As  he  stood  erect  for  an  instant 
within  the  circle  formed  by  the  torches'  dying  embers,  the 
sickly  lurid  lights  seemed  to  concentrate  their  feeble  rays 
upon  the  face  of  the  libertine,  as  if  to  give  his  hidden 
spectators  a  view  of  his  demoniac  countenance,  now  work 
ing  under  the  influence  of  rage  and  revengeful  passions. 

"  Damnation !  "  he  muttered  at  length,  grinding  his  teeth 
as  he  hurried  from  the  place. 

"  Saxon  dogs ! "  said  a  deep-toned  voice,  almost  in  his 
very  ear  as  he  passed  on.  "  Begone,  and  remember  the 
lesson  the  Irish  peasant-girl  has  taught  you." 

Cantwell  stopped  for  an  instant,  listened  as  if  he  wished 
to  discover  the  speaker,  then  dashed  forward,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight. 

But  misfortunes  never  come  single,  they  say.    His  horse, 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  133 

disposed  to  await  the  return  of  his  master  with  patience  and 
resignation,  had  bent  his  head  like  a  sensible,  well-behaved 
animal,  and  began  picking  the  long  grass  about  the  roots  of 
the  tree  to  which  he  was  fastened.  All  of  a  sudden,  how 
ever,  his  quiet  thoughts  were  disturbed,  and  his  patience 
put  to  a  far  severer  trial  than  ever  it  was  exposed  to  before. 
Indeed,  the  shouts,  the  cheers,  the  rush  of  water,  and  the 
rapid  moving  of  the  blazing  torches,  would  have  startled 
animals  of  far  higher  pretensions  to  calmness  of  temper 
than  his  had  ever  been.  So  he  broke  the  reins  of  the 
bridle,  and  galloped  homewards.  His  master,  therefore, 
was  obliged  to  follow  him  in  the  best  manner  he  could, 
reconciled  to  his  loss,  no  doubt,  by  the  salutary  reflection, 
that  wet  garments  were  both  injurious  to  health  and  very 
disagreeable  on  horseback. 


134  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    OKANGE    LODGE. 

WHILE  the  incidents  related  in  the  last  chapter  were 
occurring  in  the  country,  matters  of  no  less  interest  were 
taking  place  in  the  town  of  Donegal. 

The  committee  of  Orange  Lodge  No.  516  and  district 
143  met,  according  to  previous  arrangements,  in  the  afore 
said  town,  on  the  fair-night,  being  the  26th  day  of  Octo 
ber,  182-.  The  object  of  the  meeting  was  to  take  into 
consideration  the  propriety  of  sending  petitions  to  parlia 
ment,  signed  by  the  Orangemen  of  Ulster,  praying  that  no 
further  concessions  be  made  to  Roman  Catholics ;  that  the 
annual  grant  of  .£8,900  to  the  College  of  Maynooth  be 
discontinued,  agreeably  to  motion  made  in  preceding  ses 
sion  by  the  honorable  member  for  the  University  of  Ox 
ford;  and  finally,  that  the  oaths  of  supremacy  and  abjura 
tion  be  extended  to  all  persons  holding  responsible  offices 
under  corporate  bodies,  when  the  salary  of  said  offices 
should  amount  to  the  sum  of  thirty  pounds  sterling.  Also 
to  prepare  resolutions  condemnatory  of  the  conduct  of  cer 
tain  brethren  in  Belfast  and  Portadown,  who  had  treach 
erously  given  their  support,  at  the  recent  general  election, 
to  reform  candidates,  and  declaring  such  brethren  unde 
serving  of  confidence. 

The  Rev.  Baxter  Cantwell,  district-master  and  chaplain 
of  the  lodge,  having  transacted  the  more  important  busi 
ness  of  the  meeting,  and  after  solemn  prayer,  closed  the 
minute-book  for  the  night,  led  the  way  to  the  festive- 
board,  and  took  his  usual  place  as  chairman. 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  135 

On  the  right  of  the  chairman  sat  Mr.  Thomas  Liscaden, 
a  very  pious,  church-going,  pert,  curt,  fat,  middle-aged  gen 
tleman,  presenting  a  snub  nose,  and  a  very  apoplectic 
appearance.  He  was  senior  churchwarden,  and  treasurer 
of  the  Sabbath  penny  collections  for  the  destitute  poor,  a 
teacher  in  the  Sunday-schools,  and  an  invererate  enemy  of 
Catholics,  especially  of  the  Pope. 

On  his  left  sat  Robert  Snodgrass,  Esq.,  apothecary  and 
surgeon  of  the  village.  He  was  a  very  elegant,  ladylike 
personage,  or  what  is  commonly  understood  to  be  a  "  nice 
young  man."  His  fair  hair  was  kept  always  in  perfect  order 
—  brushed  flat  down,  and  sleek  as  an  otter's  —  not  a  single 
hair  but  had  its  proper  location,  from  which  it  was  never 
permitted  to  stray.  He  was  tall,  very  delicately  pro 
portioned,  and  as  modest  as  a  girl  of  sixteen.  Whether 
sitting  or  standing,  he  was  ever  prim,  stiff,  bolt  upright  as 
a  portrait  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Snodgrass,  in  very 
deed,  was  an  exquisite  both  in  mind  and  person ;  he  could 
spend  hours  drawing  pansies  and  butterflies  for  the  ladies, 
sang  "  Love  among  the  Roses,"  wore  an  eyeglass,  lisped 
compliments,  and  talked,  and  leered,  and  sighed  divinely. 

The  third  and  last  member  of  that  respectable  com 
mittee,  to  whom  the  reader  requires  an  introduction,  was 
the  gentleman  who  sat  next  Mr.  Snodgrass,  on  the  left  of 
the  chairman.  He  was  a  gentleman  whom  it  would  be 
criminal  and  ungrateful  in  the  writer  of  this  veracious 
story  to  pass  over  in  silence.  The  deeds  of  daring  he  per 
formed  in  these  troublous  times,  —  his  devotion  to  the 
sacred  cause,  —  the  sacrifices  he  made  to  maintain  the 
glory  of  Protestant  ascendency,  should  not  easily  be  for 
gotten, —  least  of  all  by  one  who  spent  so  many  pleasant 
hours  in  his  society,  listening  to  his  stormy  bursts  of  elo 
quent  denunciation,  —  gazing  on  his  proud,  indignant  brow 
as  it  looked  thunder,  and  his  flaring  eye  as  it  spoke  light 
ning,  on  the  villanous  papists  and  Ribbon  conspirators  of 
that  period.  This  gentleman's  name  was  Dowser,  com- 


136  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

monly  called  "  Dumpy  Dowser,  or  Dowser  the  Dumplin," 
perhaps  from  a  fancied  likeness  his  enemies  (every  one  has 
his  enemies)  said  he  bore  to  that  substantial  article  of 
food,  as  it  appears  engraved  in  Mrs.  Hall's  Domestic 
Economy.  His  limbs  were  unusually  large,  very  short,  and 
cumbrous  —  his  knees,  whilst  he  stood,  scarcely  appearing 
in  the  background,  but  when  he  sat  down,  they  shot  out 
like  rule-joints,  connecting  the  upper  man  immediately 
with  the  nether  limbs,  and  presenting  to  the  fancy  a 
figure  of  two  short  Gothic  columns  supporting  an  idol  of 
Juggernaut. 

Poor  Dowser,  not  many  years  previous  to  this  meeting, 
was  a  quiet,  sober,  peaceable  man,  as  ever  carried  a  Bible 
to  church,  or  sang  psalms  to  the  measures  of  Lord  Teign- 
mouth  or  Dr.  Porteus ;  and  in  all  probability  would  have 
remained  so,  moving  leisurely  and  piously  through  the 
vicissitudes  of  life,  —  never  dreaming,  like  Arthur  Welles- 
ley,  that  his  country  would  yet  be  proud  to  do  him  rever 
ence.  Simple-hearted  man !  he  might  have  drooped  his 
head  and  died,  like  the  bashful,  unassuming  little  buttercup 
on  his  own  native  soil,  instead  of  the  streets  of  Bristol, 
fighting  for  the  royal  cause,  had  chance  not  called  him  to 
see  with  his  own  eyes,  and  hear  with  his  own  ears,  the 
champions  of  Protestantism  in  the  London  Tavern.  Oh, 
William  III. !  Oh,  Burnet,  Swartz,  Tennison  !  ye  origina 
tors  and  abettors  of  the  charter  of  1701,  for  spiritualizing 
the  gross  and  morbid  feelings  of  the  human  race!  how 
elevating  to  the  soul  of  Dumpy  Dowser  to  hear  your  pane 
gyrics  breaking  from  the  eloquent  and  impassioned  lips  of 
a  Hughs  and  a  Thomas  —  and  in  that  hall,  too,  consecrated 
to  the  genius  of  religious  liberty !  In  that  hall  Dowser 
had  once  the  good  fortune  to  find  himself  on  a  memorable 
occasion,  when  Verner  occupied  the  tribune  and  Hawkes- 
bury  the  chair.  That  once  was  enough  :  Dowser  returned 
home  a  changed  man  —  and  oh,  what  a  change !  Mrs. 
Dowser,  poor  soul,  had  been  long  and  anxiously  expecting 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  137 

him,  for  never  had  he  been  away  so  long  before.  But 
when  he  did  at  length  arrive,  what  was  her  surprise  and 
disappointment  when,  on  the  following  morning,  instead 
of  the  silks  and  brocades,  the  jewels  and  embroidery  so 
confidently  looked  for  as  the  gifts  of  a  loving  husband,  she 
found  nothing  in  the  great  travelling-trunk  but  swords  and 
pistols,  Orange-flags  and  scarfs,  pictures  of  King  William, 
controversial  tracts,  bullet-moulds,  and  duodecimo  Bibles ! 
The  writer  fancies  he  still  sees  that  amiable  lady  sitting 
in  her  easy-chair,  knitting  her  stocking,  and  musing,  as  she 
plied  her  needles,  over  the  many  ills  of  wedded  life,  when 
he  called  to  congratulate  her  on  her  husband's  safe  return. 

O 

How  care-worn  she  looked  when  describing  the  awful 
change  in  Mr.  Dowser! — how  she  seemed  to  mourn  "the 
hopes  that  left  her,"  so  long  centred  in  him  !  "  Alas ! " 
she  said,  "  the  happy  smile  is  gone  from  his  sweet  counte 
nance,  and  the  cheering  sympathy  from  his  loving  heart. 
Instead  of  taking  his  tea  hot,  as  he  used  to  do,  with  his 
nicely-buttered  toast,  he  leaves  it  there  to  cool,  and  marches 
through  the  room,  brandishing  his  new  sword,  and  cutting 
holes  with  it  in  our  new  carpet,  and  shouting  -v  oh  !  dear 
friend  —  shouting  like  one  demented,  'No  surrender!  — 
down  with  the  bloody  papists!  —  to  —  the  naughty  place 
—  with  the  Pope ! '  —  and  —  and  a  thousand  other  terrible 
things.  But  look  here,"  she  continued,  "  see  that  old  fam 
ily  painting,  —  it  is  one  of  my  ancestors,  unfortunately  a 
Catholic,  —  and  observe,  he  has  riddled  it  with  pistol-bul 
lets.  Oh!  I'm  a  broken-hearted  woman  —  but  see  there 
the  pieces  of  slate  lying  scattered  on  the  hearth ;  it  was 
little  John's  slate;  and  because  the  child  was  making 
crosses  on  it,  playing  *  fox  and  geese '  with  his  sister  this 
morning,  he  broke  it  in  a  hundred  pieces;  and  look  here — 
he  says  I  must  wear  this  Orange-scarf  every  Sabbath  to 
church,  and  have  the  green  paint  on  the  walls  covered 
over  with  blue.  Oh !  if  he  had  never  gone  to  London,  I 
would  still  be  happy.  He  would  not  be  making  mad 


138  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

speeches,  as  he  does  now,  after  dinner,  and  no  creature  to 
listen  to  him  but  his  wife  and  his  two  little  children  —  mad 
speeches  about  King  William,  and  drinking,  in  every 
spoonful  of  his  punch,  the  'glorious,  pious,  and  immortal 
memory.'  "  But  to  resume. 

The  Rev.  Baxter  did  the  honors  with  a  very  pleased, 
self-satisfied  air.  He  drank  wine  with  every  member  of 
the  committee,  and  gave  the  charter-toast  at  least  a  dozen 
times  that  night  amidst  raptures  of  applause. 

"  It's  a  glorious  night,"  said  Dowser,  after  finishing  his 
sixth  tumbler  of  poteen  punch  (he  never  tasted  wine  — 
he  despised  it).  "It's  a  glorious  night;  but  what  is  it  to 
a  night  in  London  !  Oh,  thundher !  if  yer  reverence  was 
there."  And  he  spoke  like  a  voice  proceeding  from  an 
empty  barrel,  hoarse  and  hollow,  and  in  very  short,  pithy 
sentences,  being,  as  the  reader  may  have  already  supposed, 
short-winded. 

"  Clever  men  —  noble  fellows  ! "  observed  the  chairman, 
approvingly. 

"  Clever  —  noble  ! "  ejaculated  Dowser.  "  Look  here,  yer 
reverence.  See,  they  put  a  new  soul  in  me  —  I  trembled 
when  I  heard  them  —  I  did  —  I  felt  a  kind  of  dinling  all 
over  me  —  my  courage  riz  in  me  —  oh,  thunder-an-turf ! 
to  hear  Colonel  Verner,  and  see  Boyton  lifting  his  tre 
mendous  fist,  and  shaking  it  at  the  bloody  papists.  Hilloa 
there  below!"  he  added,  "send  up  the  decanter — one 
bumper  more  to  Verner.  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  Verner 
forever ! " 

It  was  now  approaching  ten  o'clock,  the  usual  hour  for 
the  chairman's  leave-taking ;  he  therefore  begged  his  con 
vives  to  fill  again,  and  gave  in  glowing  terms  the  health 
and  happiness  of  their  worthy  brother,  Doctor  Snodgrass. 
Doctor  Snodgrass  arose  to  return  thanks;  not,  however, 
till  he  ran  his  hand  leisurely  over  his  hair,  and  found  all 
his  fair  locks  in  their  proper  places,  —  pulled  up  his  shirt- 
collar,  and  wiped  his  lips  with  a  snow-white  handkerchief. 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  139 

He  smiled  as  he  raised  his  delicate  body  to  the  perpen 
dicular,  looked  around  with  complacency,  and  began  his 
address. 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen  —  brethren  mine,"  said 
he.  "  (Hem)  J  return  you  my  best  (heni)  —  my  most 
heartfelt  thanks  (laying  his  hand  on  his  heart).  I  have 
never,  gentlemen  (hem)  —  unaccustomed  as  I  am  —  (hem) 
—  that  is,  gentlemen,  I  mean  I  have  never  been  in  the 
company  of  gentlemen  (hem)  — " 

"  Ton  my  conscience,  that's  no  lie,  any  way,"  muttered 
Dowser,  in  a  stage-whisper ;  for  he  hated  and  despised  the 
speaker  most  cordially. 

Snodgrass  affected  not  to  hear  the  words,  but  neverthe 
less  got  so  embarrassed  that  he  felt  he  could  not  utter 
another  syllable.  "Gentlemen,"  said  he,  endeavoring  to 
make  an  honorable  retreat  from  his  disagreeable  position, 
"  as  I  cannot  do  justice  to  my  feelings  in  a  speech,  I  will 
try  what  I  can  do  in  the  musical  way ;  I'll  substitute  a 
song  with  your  favor."  And  saying  this,  he  resumed  his 
seat  amidst  cries  of  "  Song  !  —  song !  —  Mr.  Snodgrass's 
song  ! "  in  true  bacchanalian  uproariousness. 

As  soon  as  silence  was  obtained,  the  doctor  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  clasped  his  hands  before  him,  resting  them  on 
the  edge  of  the  table ;  and  fixing  his  eyes  in  melting  soft 
ness  on  the  ceiling  above,  he  sang,  with  all  the  languishing, 
melancholy  tone  and  manner  of  Tilburina  in  the  Critic, — 

Oh  ye  pansies,  and  ye  roses,  and  ye  daffodils  so  fair, 

How  I  love  t'inhale  the  perfume  of  your  odors  breathing  there ! 

But  oh,  my  love  —  my  Josephi-i-ine,  (shake.) 

"  Augh!  bad  luck  to  yer  Josephine  and  your  daffodils!" 
roared  Dowser,  no  longer  able  to  restrain  himself.  "  We 
didn't  come  here  to  be  sickened  with  your  perfumes  — 
damn  it,  man,  perfume  us  with  punch,  if  ye  like,  and  give 
us  a  « no-surrender  song ! '  —  the  curse  i'  the  crows  light  on 
yer  roses  and  pansies." 


140  6HANDY  M'GTJIRE,   OR 

"Mr.  Dowser  —  Mr.  Dowser!  what  means  this?"  said 
the  chairman,  reprovingly. 

"My  dear  reverend  sir,"  entreated  Snodgrass,  with  a 
meagre  attempt  at  a  smile,  and  looking  beseechingly  at 
the  rector,  "do  not  —  oh,  pray  do  not  interfere  —  you 
know  what  he  is  ! " 

"  Know  what  I  am ! "  repeated  Dowser,  stung  to  mad 
ness  at  what  he  believed  to  be  an  insult,  and  starting  to 
his  feet  as  he  spoke.  "  Know  what  I  am  ! "  he  reiterated, 
looking  swords  and  daggers  at  his  victim.  "  Yes,  sir,  I 
know  what  I  am,  and  whom  I  came  from — what  many  a 
one  that  carries  —  that  carries  a  high  head,  sir,  doesn't 
know.  Yes,  sir  —  I'm  a  gentleman,  sir  —  and  what's  more, 
sir  —  I  have  property,  sir  —  I  have  a  stake  here,  sir  (strik 
ing  his  ponderous  thigh  with  his  open  hand),  —  I  have  a 
stake  in  the  country,  sir,  what  you  haven't."  Here  the 
laugh  became  so  loud  and  long,  that  Dowser,  after  re 
peated  attempts  to  obtain  a  hearing,  sat  down  completely 
exhausted. . 

Snodgrass,  amid  the  noise  and  confusion,  kept  his  hand 
kerchief  pressed  to  his  mouth,  his  eyes  cast  down,  and  his 
person  immovable  as  if  he  had  been  riveted  to  the  chair. 
He  was  brooding  over  the  melancholy  fate  of  his  favorite 
ditty,  and  making  sturdy  resolutions  never  more  to  sit  in 
the  same  house,  much  less  at  the  same  board  with  Dumpy 
Dowser.  But  Snodgrass  had  often  made  similar  resolu 
tions,  which  he  was  induced,  by  the  advice  of  the  Rev. 
Baxter,  as  often  to  abandon.  The  truth  is,  he  frequently 
experienced  the  hatred  and  contempt  of  his  noisy  brother 
very  sensibly,  because  he  had  not  the  spirit  to  resent  an 
insult,  or  perhaps  valued  his  reputation  too  high  to  com 
mit  himself  with  such  an  antagonist.  Dowser  knew  this, 
and  took  advantage  of  his  pusillanimity  on  every  possible 
occasion  to  act  the  bully.  "  He  deemed  it  reproachful,"  as 
he  often  said,  "  to  the  Orangemen  of  the  Donegal  lodge, 
to  have  such  a  creature  acknowledged  as  a  loyal  brother, 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  141 

and  personally  insulting  to  himself  besides,  to  have  such  a 
fellow  take  precedence  in  their  assemblies ;  indeed,  he  felt 
himself  compelled,  as  a  man  of  nice  sensibilities,  to  pro 
tect  his  own  honor  by  showing,  on  every  opportunity  that 
presented  itself,  how  very  far  he  was  above  submitting  to 
be  regarded  as  an  inferior,  or  even  as  the  equal,  of  Mr.  Sur 
geon  Apothecary  Snodgrass."  So  much  was  the  latter 
harassed  by  these  continual  attacks,  that,  of  late  days,  his 
dread  of  Dowser  became  excessively  annoying ;  in  fact,  he 
began  to  entertain  serious  fears  that  his  enemy  might  end, 
some  time  or  other,  when  his  blood  was  up,  by  an  attempt 
on  his  person,  perhaps  his  life.  It  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  he  had  any  reason  to  think  this  apprehension  un 
founded. 

"  I  have  now,"  said  the  chairman,  when  the  noise  had 
somewhat  subsided,  "  I  have  now,  gentlemen,  the  pleasure 

—  the  high  gratification  of  giving  you  Mr.  Dowser's  health 

—  a  man  ever  foremost  in  the  good  cause,  —  ready  at  all 
times  to  sacrifice  his  fortune,  yea,  and  his  life  if  needed,  to 
advance  the  interests  of  our  holy  confederation,  and  main 
tain  the  rights  we  have  so  nobly  earned  by  our  glorious 
revolution.     I  give  you,  gentlemen,  without  further  pref 
ace,  the  health  and  happiness  of  our  worthy  and  respected 
brother,  Mr.  W.  Dowser,  and  long  may  he  live  amongst  us." 

Then  were  heard  the  shouts  of  "  Dowser  forever  !  —  our 
brave  Dowser !  —  long  live  Dowser ! "  The  empty  glasses 
leaped  and  danced  quadrilles  on  the  table,  spoons  flew 
from  their  tumblers  in  ecstasies,  and  the  very  windows  of 
the  apartment  jingled  their  applause. 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  lion  of  the 
night  (the  muscles  of  his  face  quivering  with  emotion,  and 
his  cheeks  swelling  like  Eolus  preparing  for  a  storm). 
"  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  man  who  can  thank  you.  And  why  ? 
because  I  have  a  heart  to  do  it  (here  he  struck  the  ta 
ble  with  his  ponderous  fist),  —  because,  gentlemen,  I  have 
a  soul  in  me  —  yes,  a  soul  that  fears  no  man  —  a  soul, 


142  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

gentlemen,  that's  ready  to  die  for  the  cause,  and  for  the 
whole  of  you.  Oh  !  when  I  look  at  that  —  at  that  glori 
ous  flag  over  his  reverence's  head  —  when  I  look  at  the 
orange  and  blue  that  we  wear  —  when  I  look  at  them, 
your  reverence  —  when  I  do,  I'm  not  myself — I'm  not, 

—  I'm  a  Sampson  —  I'm  a  Goliah  (tremendous  cheering). 
When  I  look  at  them,  and  think  of  them,  I  could  sweep 

—  sweep  the  heads  of  all  the  papist  Ribbonmen  —  "    Here 
the  orator  became  altogether  uncontrollable ;  and  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  he  swept  —  not  the  heads  of  his 
enemies  —  but  the  contents  of  a  steaming  pitcher  that  lay 
peaceably  on  the  table,  right  on  the  person  of  the  unfor 
tunate  Snodgrass,  moody  and  melancholy  at  his  side. 

The  discharge  of  a  whole  galvanic  battery  into  a  dead 
rabbit  could  not  produce  a  more  instantaneous  effect. 
With  the  elasticity  of  an  India-rubber  ball,  he  bounced 
from  his  seat,  emitting  an  awful  scream,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Stand  back ! "  cried  the  chairman.  "  He's  ruined  for 
ever  ! " 

"  Oh  —  oh  !  "  cried  Snodgrass.  "  I  knew  he'd  murder 
me.  I'm  burned  to  death  —  I'm  burned  to  death  !" 

"  Thunder  —  thunder  ! "  roared  Dowser.    "  What's  this ? 

—  I   didn't   think  —  I'm    very   sorry  —  where's  the   cold 
water?  —  push  it  over  here,  Wilson."     And  taking  an 
other   pitcher   of  that   cooling    liniment   in    both    hands 
(thinking  it,  in  the  confusion  of  his  ideas,  to  be  at  that 
moment  the  best  and  speediest  relief),  he  turned  to  heave 
it  on  the  scalded  man,  when  the  chair  tripped  him,  assisted 
no  doubt  by  six  or  eight  tumblers  of  stout  Innishowen, 
and  he  fell,  pitcher  and  man,  on  the  prostrate  body  of  the 
unfortunate  doctor. 

When  Snodgrass  received  the  shock,  or  rather  the  thud, 
from  the  avalanche  of  human  flesh,  he  groaned  like  a 
man  in  his  last  agony,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  It's  all  over 
—  my  time  has  come  at  last ; "  but  in  a  moment  after, 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  143 

feeling  a  consciousness  of  life  within  him  still,  and  making 
an  instinctive  effort  to  preserve  it,  he  caught  Dowser  by 
the  gorge,  and  struggled,  twisting  as  an  eel  does  to  escape 
from  under  a  rock,  till  he  finally  crept  up  on  the  huge  body 
of  his  antagonist,  with  the  determination,  doubtless,  of 
strangling  him,  now  that  he  lay  so  completely  at  his  mer 
cy.  A  lucky  incident,  however,  saved  his  life,  and  gave 
quite  a  new  interest  to  the  scene. 

Scarcely  had  Dowser  fallen,  when  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment  opened  violently,  and  a  stranger  entered  crying, 
"  The  Ribbonmen  !  the  Ribbonmen  !  —  they're  comin' ! 
they're  comin' !  —  the  sodgers  are  gone,  an'  we're  all  mur- 
dhered!" 

The  reverend  chairman  and  the  other  disengaged  mem 
bers  of  the  committee  profited  by  the  warning  by  rushing 
precipitously  from  the  room,  resolved  to  save'  their  own 
lives  at  all  events,  and  let  fortune  decide  the  fate  of  the 
mortal  combatants.  This  will  account  in  some  measure 
for  the  somewhat  protracted  embraces  of  the  brethren  on 
the  floor. 

As  Snodgrass  gained  the  summit  of  the  Dumplin,  and 
had  inserted  his  long  wiry  fingers  in  the  folds  of  his  cravat, 
the  cry  was  again  repeated,  and  Dowser  was  saved.  Snod- 
grass  unloosed  his  hold,  started  to  his  feet,  and  ran  with 
the  speed  of  a  greyhound. 

Dowser,  also,  after  much  puffing  and  blowing,  got  on  his 
pedestals,  upsetting  the  table  in  his  desperate  efforts ;  and 
with  his  arras  stretched  out  before  him,  his  eyes  starting 
from  their  sockets  in  his  eagerness  to  escape,  waddled  and 
staggered  furiously  from  the  room.  When  he  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  he  called  lustily  for  his  gray  horse, 
King  William.  The  animal  was  in  the  gateway  of  the 
hotel,  ready  for  his  master  to  mount,  and  thither  he  direct 
ed  his  course,  driving  the  bystanders  from  side  to  side,  and 
forcing  a  passage  for  his  immense  body  with  the  impetuos 
ity  of  a  tornado. 


144  SHANDY   M^GUIRE,    OR 

"  That's  right,  my  boys,"  he  endeavored  to  articulate,  his 
breath  almost  exhausted.  "That's  right  —  hold  the  horse 
steady  —  now  help  me  to  mount  —  now,  ye  scoundrels, 
help  me  —  the  villanous  papists  —  the  cut-throats  —  they 
came  to  murder  us  —  are  they  coming  ?  —  look !  are  they 
coming  ?  —  now  give  me  the  reins  —  ha !  I'll  soon  be  out 
of  their  power." 

Hardly  had  Dowser  rode  ten  paces  from  the  gateway 
when  a  man  vaulted  on  King  William's  back  behind  him, 
took  the  reins  from  his  hands,  and  turned  the  horse  down 
a  back  lane,  heading  at  a  full  gallop  directly  for  the  country. 

"  Not  a  word,"  said  the  same  voice  that  scattered  the 
revellers  from  their  orgies  in  the  lodge.  "  Keep  quate  an' 
easy,  or  I'll  fling  ye  on  the  pavement.  It's  only  the  loan 
av  ye  we're  takin'  till  we  see  young  Frank  Devlin  again." 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  145 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE    SICK-CALL. 

"!T'S  a  wondher,"  said  Mary  Connor  (after  the  little 
party  had  returned  from  the  mill,  and  were  seating  them 
selves  round  the  kitchen  fire),  "  it's  a  great  wondher  what's 
keepin'  Frank ;  he  ought  to  be  here  afore  this." 

"Niver  fret,  woman  dear,"  replied  Shandy.  "Maybe 
it's  glad  ye'd  be  he  niver  came,  afore  yer  a  year  married. 
Get  us  Jamie's  pipe,  till  we  take  a  draw  afther  that  trifle  i' 
bisness ; "  and  he  seated  himself  snugly  on  the  creepie. 

"Well,  Shandy,"  observed  old  Jamie,  "I'm  doubtin'  we'll 
be  after  payin'  dear  for  this  night's  sport  yit." 

"  Hooh,  man !  niver  buy  yer  coffin  till  yer  ready  for't. 
The  young  gentleman  'ill  keep  clear  av  ye,  I'll  warrint  — 
troth  will  he,  Jamie :  he's  above  makin'  a  parish  talk  av 
sich  a  thrifle." 

The  company,  consisting  of  Jamie,  Ned,  Mary,  Shandy, 
and  a  few  other  neighbors,  determined  now  to  remain  till 
Frank's  return.  The  pipe  and  glass  circulated  freely, 
eliciting  many  a  witty  remark  and  pleasant  joke  at  the 
expense  of  the  unfortunate  Cantwell. 

"  Did  I  niver  tell  yees,  boys,"  said  Shandy,  in  evident 
good  humor,  "  about  the  night  I  was  goin'  to  be  shot,  about 
a  fortnight  ago  ?  " 

The  answer,  of  course,  was  in  the  negative ;  then  a  gen 
eral  movement  of  the  chairs  and  stools  still  closer  round 
the  cheerful  turf-fire,  and  a  unanimous  wish  expressed  to 
hear  the  story. 

10 


146  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OR 

Shandy  wiped  the  shank  of  his  pipe  in  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat,  handed  it  to  his  next  neighbor,  and  then  folding  his 
arms  on  his  breast,  and  leaning  back  against  the  hab-stone, 
with  his  legs  across,  began  the  tale. 

"  Well,  boys,  as  I  was  sayin',  it's  jist  a  fortnight  this  very 
night.  Father  Domnick  went  down  the  glen  to  Dennis 
Sheeran's,  where  he  was  to  have  a  *  station '  nixt  day,  an' 
av  coorse,  myself  was  there  too.  Darby  Gallaher,  th'  ould 
dark,  was  pittin'  out  the  catechism  as  uswal  on  the  chil- 
dher,  an'  his  reverence  reading  his  offick  in  the  wee  room 
aif  the  kitchen.  Well,  lo  an'  behowld  ye,  it  was  drawin' 
close  on  this  time  i'  night,  iz  all  gathered  roun'  the  spunk 
i'  fire,  some  thinkin'  i'  bed,  an'  ithers  lisnen'  t'  ould  Darby 
an'  the  childher,  whin  who  comes  in  but  a  son  iv  Pether 
Hanagans,  an'  him  as  drukeit  as  a  duck  in  April,  an',  siz 
he,  comin'  forrit,  — 

"  *  Save  ye,  genteels  —  this  is  a  stormy  kine  av  a  night/ 

"  '  Thrue  for  ye,  Pether,'  siz  I,  *  an'  is  that  yerself,  man  ? 
Why,  ye're  a'most  drowned  —  come  into  the  fire,  an'  dry 
yer  duds.' 

" '  I  haven't  the  laste  iccasion,'  siz  he,  *  'am  all  in  a  leather 
i'  sweat,  as  I  im.  I  was  sent  for  the  priest  —  is  he  here  ?' 

" c  Well,  he  is,'  siz  I, '  av  he's  not  gone  to  bed  —  but  who's 
sick,  that  yer  in  sich  a  hurry  ? ' 

"  *  Brine  Horisky,  av  the  Cairn,'  siz  he,  t  an'  his  wife  — 
they're  not  expected,  an'  they  sent  me,  hammer-an'-tongs, 
afther  his  reverence,  for  he'll  not  overtake  them  alive.' 

" '  Dear  be  about  us,'  siz  Darby,  *  and  what's  the  com- 
plent  ? ' 

" c  Yalla  faver,  'am  tould,'  siz  Pether ;  '  but  it's  a  fam- 
ishin'  to  face  out,  an'  the  young  priest  not  to  the  fore 
aither.  'Am  a  most  afeerd  to  thry  ould  Father  Domnick ; ' 
but,  any  way,  he  made  bowld,  an'  up  he  goes  to  the  doore 
and  knocks. 

"c  Who'athat?'  siz  the  priest.  (Now,  boys,  you  know 
I  can't  put  the  tweel  on  the  English  lake  his  reverence  — 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  147 

that  divlish  Haybrew  pit  a  sort  av  a  slippaugh  on  my 
tongue  that  'ill  niver  get  rid  av.)  c  Who's  that  ? '  siz  he  ; 
'  don't  be  disturbin'  me  —  'am  goin'  to  bed.' 

"  *  It's  me,'  siz  Pether. 

" '  Is  it  indeed  ? '  siz  the  priest.  c  Well,  an  wid  ye  be 
plazed  to  give  yer  name  ? '  mighty  snappish-lake. 

" '  It's  a  sick-call,'  siz  Pether.  *  Brine  Horisky  an'  his 
wife,  up  the  Cairn.' 

"  «  What  ails  them  ? '  siz  he. 

" '  Och !  they're  very  bad  intirely,  yer  reverence,  ye'll 
not  overtake  them.' 

"'  Begone  out  i'  that,'  siz  the  ould  man,  openin'  the 
doore,  an'  makin'  a  wallup  i'  the  stick  at  him.  '  Begone  ! 
is  this  any  time  to  come  for  a  priest,  an'  me  goin'  to  bed ! ' 

"  '  Well,  yer  reverence,'  siz  Pether,  '  sure  they're  callin' 
for  ye  all  mornin'  —  maybe  they're  dead  be  this  time.' 

"  'And  why  didn't  they  send  since  mornin'  ?' 

"'Bekase  they  cudn't  get  a  sowl  to  come,'  siz  Pether; 
'they're  very  dissolit  creathurs,  for  ivry  one's  afeerd  i'  the 
yalla  faver.' 

"  '  Well,  be  off,'  siz  the  priest,  '  an'  don't  come  near  me 
till  mornin'.'  So  with  that  he  closed  the  doore. 

"  '  Now,'  siz  Pether,  luckin'  at  me,  an'  scratchin'  his  head, 
'I  tould  ye  what  I'd  get;  but  it's  murdher,  any  way,  to 
think  av  bringin'  th'  ould  man  out  sich  a  night.' 

" '  Niver  mind,'  siz  I,  *  the  first's  the  worst  av  him  ;  he  has 
a  kine  av  a  frownin'  way,  ye  know,  but  he'll  go ;  'ill  go  bail 
for  him.' 

"  We  all  gathered  roun'  the  fire,  speckin'  to  see  him 
come  up  from  the  room  ivry  other  minit ;  but  a  deuce  a  up 
or  up  he  come.  So  I  wint  over,  an'  clapt  my  eye  to  the 
keyhole,  an'  begorra,  there  he  was  in  bed  as  snug  as  a  flea 
in  a  blanket. 

"'Well,'  siz  I,  turnin'  to  Pether,  'if  that's  not  quare 
enough,  gahun  to  the  bit  —  if  it  isn't  the  first  time  I  ever 
knew  him  to  do  the  lake  afore ;  so  'am  thinkin'  ye  may  go 
home,  Pether,  for  he  'ont  go  the  night.' 


148  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB    - 

"Aff  went  Pether,  an'  we  all  got  undher  the  clothes,  an' 
fell  asleep.  We  cudn't  be  more  nor  sound  —  Paddy  Kelly 
an'  me  in  the  same  bed,  as  snug  an'  warm  as  two  kittins 
thegither  —  when  what  wid  ye  have  av  it,  dear,  somebody 
got  a  hoult  i'  my  nose,  an'  pucked  it  jist  as  if  it  didn't  be 
long  to  me ! 

"  '  Git  up  out  i'  that,'  siz  some  one,  '  an'  quet  yer  snorin'; 
it's  corked  yer  nose  ought  to  be.  Git  up,'  siz  he  again. 

"  '  Who  ir  ye  ? '  siz  I,  wakin'  in  a  minit.  '  Who  ir  ye 
that's  makin'  sich  freedoms  ?  —  less  i'  yer  thricks,  my  good 
fella,  till  yer  betther  aquent.  Cork  yer  own  nose,'  siz  I, 
'av  it  disn't  plaze  ye.' 

" '  Git  up,  man ;  shure  Father  Domnick's  waitin','  siz 
Brine  Sheeran,  for  I  knew  his  voice  now.  'He  cudn't 
make  out  where  yer  bed  was,  an'  I  had  to  rise  to  waken 
ye.  Make  haste,  and  don't  keep  him  waitin'.' 

"  Well,  up  I  bounced,  and  there  sure  enough  was  the 
oulcl  priest  ready  for  the  start. 

"  '  Orra,  mai  i'  mai,  Father  Domnick  dear,'  siz  I ;  'shure 
yer  not  dhreamin7  iv  goin'  out  sich  a  night  ? '  (knowin'  I'd 
have  to  go  with  him). 

" '  I  must  go,'  siz  he ;  '  I  can't  sleep,  so  I  may  as  well 
take  the  hills  for't.' 

"'But  isn't  Pether  gone,'  siz  I,  'not  expeckin'  ye'd 
budge  till  mornin'?  Hout !  ye  can't  go,  yer  reverence; 
it's  downright  murdher.' 

" '  Well,  well,'  siz  the  priest,  '  ye  know  the  road  as  well 
as  Pether  —  arn't  ye  bound  to  visit  the  sick,  arn't  ye?' 

" '  Visit  the  sick !  oh,  av  coorse,'  siz  I,  '  sartintly,  it's  one 
i'  the  seven  corporals ;  but  feen  a  word  the  Chrisen  doc- 
thrin  says  about  goin'  out  sich  an  onraisonable  night  as 
this.  Begorra,'  siz  I  (pittin'  on  my  shoes),  '  the  Bible  says 
there's  a  time  to  go  to  bed  and  a  time  to  rise,  an'  now  yer 
reverence  is  goin'  as  clane  against  it,  as  av  ye  wur  a  down 
right  Protestin'.' 

"  But  it  was  all  no  use.     So,  to  make  a  long  story  short, 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  149 

I  gathered  my  duds  about  me  as  well  as  I  cud,  and  tied  a 
kidug  over  the  priest's  hat,  an'  under  his  chin. 

" '  We'll  have  to  walk  the  whole  skutch,'  siz  I  (trying 
him  again),  '  an'  it's  well  on  to  the  feck  i'  six  miles  to  the 
house :  'am  afeerd,  in  throth  I  am,  Father  Domnick,  it  'ill 
kill  yer  reverence  —  an'  you  not  so  rugged  as  ye  list  to  be ; 
it's  powerin'  lake  a  waterspout.' 

" '  Nonsense,'  siz  he ;  '  sure  'am  not  made  i'  suggar,  that 
I'd  melt.' 

" '  Well,  but  ye  know  ye  done  enough  in  yer  time,'  siz 
I :  'yer  ould  now.' 

" '  Niver  mind  that,'  siz  he  again,  strikin'  the  ground 
with  his  batta-more.  'Niver  you  mind,  Shandy  (smilin' 
in  my  face)  ;  'am  not  to  ould  to  attend  a  sick-call  yet,  God 
be  thankit.' 

"'May  the  blessin'  i'  the  same  be  about  ye  then,  and 
keep  ye  long  so,  priest  dear,'  siz  I ;  for,  in  throth,  boys,  my 
self  was  proud  to  see  the  sperit  he  had  in  him. 

"Well,  weans,  it  was  as  dark  as  pitch  —  ye  dudn't  see 
yer  linger  afore  ye  —  an'  it  rainin'  lake  the  end  av  the 
wurl' ;  but  we  got  on  middlin'  well  till  we  came  to  Drim- 
nasillach,  an'  then,  sure  enough,  we  had  to  take  the  soft 
bog  for't.  Feen  a  sich  sputterin'  an'  tumblin'  as  we  had 
ever  ye  seen  since  the  creation  i'  cats  —  in  a'  one  hole,  an' 
out  i'  the  ither,  jist  for  all  the  wurl'  lake  a  pair  i'  frogs  in 
ditch-shugh.  Well,  whin  we  got  up  as  far  as  th'  ould  walls 
that  Cantwell  racked  an'  burned  to  the  ground,  it  got  mor- 
tial  cowld,  and  rainin'  still  lake  the  eave  of  a  house. 

"'Yer  reverence,'  siz  I,  'it's  a  tarrible  night  intirely,  so 
it  is ;  it's  the  onraisonablest  night,'  siz  I,  '  I  ever  pit  me  fut 
out  —  'am  afeerd  we'll  not  be  able  to  stan'  it.' 

"  '  Thrust  in  God,'  siz  the  ould  man  ;  '  he's  able  to  help 
us  —  it's  his  work  we're  doin',  shure  an'  he  'ont  forsake  us. 
Go  you  on  afore  me,'  siz  he,  '  an'  'ill  hould  ye  by  the  skirt.' 

"  On  we  trudged,  him  houldin'  by  the  skirt  i'  my  coat, 
an'  me  gropiri'  my  way  with  a  stick ;  for  my  eyes  might  as 


150  SHANDY   M'GUIKE,    OR    • 

well  be  in  my  pocket :  bad  win  to  the  stime  I  could  see 
more  nor  the  pothooks  there. 

"  '  Whisht ! '  siz  Father  Domnick ;  <  was  that  a  voice  I 
heard  afore  us  there  ? ' 

" '  Ugh,  no,'  siz  I ;  '  it  was  only  a  peeweet ; '  so  on  we 
wint  again  about  the  three  lengths  av  a  tether,  not  spakin' 
a  word,  with  our  heads  down  facin'  the  rain  ;  when  jist 
while  ye'd  say  trapsticks,  down  I  tumbled,  head  over  heels 
in  a  turf-bink,  as  I  thought  —  but  what  was  it,  av  yees 
plaze,  but  Patchy  Keshidy's  still-house  —  the  priest  lettin' 
go  my  skirt,  an'  stappin'  above.  I  knew  in  a  minit  where 
I  was,  feelin'  the  smell  i'  the  potale  an'  grains  that  I  was 
rowlin'  in,  lake  an  ell  in  a  mud-hole.  Well,  begorra,  I'd 
scarcely  been  right  in  the  hole,  when  two  i'  the  chaps  runs 
out,  cryin',  '  Police !  police ! '  an'  one  i'  them  got  hoult  i' 
me  by  the  neck  lake  a  wild-cat. 

"'Let  go  me  neck!'  siz  I;  'for  ony  sake  let  me  go  — 
'am  a  smotherin'.' 

"  '  Fire  the  still ! '  shouted  Patchy  (for  I  knew  his  voice 
in  a  minit).  « Blow  it  up,'  siz  he,  '  on  the  rascally  police  — 
the  stave-brakin'  villains.' 

"  <  Stap  !  stap  ! '  siz  I. « for  the  love  i'  God,  or  ye'll  kill  the 
priest.  Stand  back,  Father  Domnick,'  siz  I,  '  or  they'll 
blow  ye  to  dhuggins.' 

"  '  Don't  fire  it ! '  roared  Patchy ;  « stap  —  who  ir  ye  at 
all  ?  '  siz  he,  still  guzzlin'  me  by  the  throat. 

" '  Shandy  M'Guire,'  siz  I.     '  Who  else  'id  I  be  ? ' 

"  Well,  begorra,  the  word  wasn't  well  out  i'  my  mouth, 
whin  bang  went  the  still,  an'  tuck  the  roof  i'  the  craw 
alang  with  it ;  but,  iv  coorse,  it  was  only  scraws  was  on  it. 

"  '  The  priest !  the  priest ! '  siz  I  (an'  me  a'most  dead 
myself; )  « he's  murdhered  !  Father  Domnick,  ir  ye  living 
at  all?' 

" '  To  be  sure  I  am,'  siz  he ;  '  take  care  av  yerselves.' 
An'  with  that  he  jumped  down  on  the  bossag  beside  us,  as 
light  as  a  bumbee  on  a  benweed. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  151 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  in  talkin'  —  if  we  wurn't  in  a  purty 
mess  —  I  wish  ye'd  jist  see  us.  May  I  niver,  if  the  '  brack 
iv  Anghrim'  cud  houl  the  cannel  to  it.  But  bad  scran  to 
the  hair  we  cared  about  ourselves  —  only  thinkin'  av  his 
reverence,  for  we  wur  sure  an'  sartin  he  was  kilt;  an'  when 
we  saw  him  safe,  we  got  as  proud  an'  uplifted  as  Joice  the 
gauger  himself 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  we  soon  got  to  our  scrapers 
again,  an'  afther  condolin'  with  Patchy  about  the  rimmigin' 
an'  rackin'  we  made,  I  scrambled  up  some  i'  the  ould  splin 
ters  i'  the  still-house  ;  indeed,  they  wur  scarce  enough,  but 
ony  way,  as  big  Jarmy  ust  to  say,  'between  rooks  an' 
jackdaws,'  we  got  as  much  as  made  a  torch,  an'  affwe  set 
once  more  to  the  Cairn.  It  wusn't  very  long,  ye  may  be 
shure,  till  we  got  to  the  place,  seein'  we  had  the  light,  and 
cud  step  on  'ithout  gropin'. 

"  So  when  we  came  to  the  doore,  an'  lucked  in,  in  troth 
it  was  tryin'  enough.  There  was  poor  Brine  an'  the  wife 
(God  be  good  to  them  both,  they're  past  throuble  now,  the 
creathurs  !)  there  they  wur  lyin'  thegither,  in  a  wee  out- 
shot  bed  aside  the  fire,  an'  not  a  livin'  sowl  near  them  but 
themselves,  barrin'  the  cat,  that  was  washin'  her  face  cosily 
on  the  hab-stone. 

" '  It's  a  poor  sight,  Father  Domnick,'  siz  I,  as  I  peeped 
in  av  the  broken  windy.  <  It's  a  distressin'  sight  for  a  body 
to  luck  at,  an'  not  a  brathin'  mortial  to  see  afther  them.' 

" '  Poor  enough,'  siz  th'  ould  man,  shakin'  his  head,  an' 
the  wather  runnin'  aff  his  hat  lake  a  beescap  in  a  shower 
i'  rain, « but  God  is  good  to  them ;  shure  they're  livin'  any 
way,  an'  that's  one  blessin' :  they'll  not  die  without  the 
blissed  sacramints.  Go  up,  Shandy,'  siz  he,  '  to  the  nixt 
house  there,  an'  bring  me  a  cannel,  if  they  have  any.' 

"  Up  I  runs  to  Mickey  Melly's,  and  glad  they  wur  to  see 
me,  when  I  tould  them  the  priest  was  cum. 

"  '  Irn't  ye  afeerd,'  siz  Mickey,  '  av  the  yalla  faver,  that 
yer  goiii'  in  so  bowld  with  the  cannel  ? ' 


152  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

u  *  There  isn't  a  feerdher  creathur  brathin'  breath,'  siz  I ; 
4  'ill  only  lave  it  at  the  doore,  an'  come  back  while  he's 
purparin'  them.'  So  down  myself  goes  with  the  cannel, 
an'  siz  I, '  here  it  is,  yer  reverence  ;  'am  afeerd  to  ventur.' 

"  '  Come  in,  Shandy,'  siz  he ;  '  come  in  —  there's  no  fear 
—  God's  good  '  —  an'  he  spoke  thick,  lake  one  'd  be  out  i' 
breath. 

" '  O,  begorra,'  siz  I ;  ' 1  darn't  —  the  M'Guires  is  greatly 
given  to  the  faver.' 

" « Come  in,'  siz  he  again, '  an'  help  me  —  'ill  not  keep  ye 
a  minit.' 

"  Well,  with  that  I  ventured  to  peep  in,  an'  may  I  niver 
do  harm,  weans  dear,  if  I  knew  whether  I  was  sittin'  or 
stanin'  when  I  saw  it.  *  Bah ! '  siz  I  to  myself,  '  it's  only 
ravin'  I  am  —  it  can't  be.'  So  I  winked  three  times,  and 
lucked  in  again  ;  but  it  was  true  enough :  there  was  th'  ould 
priest  sittin'  lake  on  the  bed-stock,  with  Brine's  arms  roun' 
his  neck,  an'  his  own  roun'  the  dyin'  creathur,  jist  that 
way,'  —  here  Shandy  described  the  posture,  — '  supportin' 
him,  an'  strivin'  to  rise  with  him  on  his  back,  but  cudn't, 
for  he  was  ould  now,  an'  far  waker  nor  he  ust  to  be.  So, 
siz  I,  goin'  forrit  a  step  or  two,  not  knowin'  what  he  was 
about,  — 

" '  For  the  love  i'  Heaven ! '  siz  I,  <  Father  Domnick,  dear, 
what  in  the  wurl'  d'ye  mane  ? ' 

" '  Whisht  yer  bawlin','  siz  he,  «  an'  don't  bring  the  town 
about  us.' 

" '  An'  goodness  be  near  us  ! '  siz  I.  4  What  ir  ye  doin' 
at  all  ?  —  ye  must  be  asthray  ! ' 

"'I  want  to  get  him  over  on  the  straw  there  in  the 
corner,  to  hear  .his  confession.' 

" '  To  hear  his  confession  ! '  siz  I. 

" '  Yes,'  siz  he ;  '  shure  the  wife's  here  in  the  bed,  an' 
she'd  be  listenin'  to  us.' 

"  Well,  boys,  I  knew  then  at  wanst  what  his  manin' 
was ;  an'  surely  when  I  sees  th'  ould  priest,  with  his  white 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  153 

head  bent  clown,  tryin'  to  lift  the  sick  man,  an'  not  able, 
an'  him  so  delakit  to  ax  anybody  to  help  him,  for  fear 
they'd  ketch  the  disase,  I  got  all  throughother  an'  ashamed 
i'  myself.  The  fear  left  me  all  at  once,  when  I  saw  the 
amplish  he  was  in ;  and,  begorra,  over  I  runs,  an'  gets  a 
hoult  i'  Brine. 

" '  Let  his  reverence  go,'  siz  I ;  '  I'll  kerry  ye  in  God's 
name,'  siz  I,  'if  I  was  to  take  the  complent  an'  die  the- 
morrow.'  So  I  tuck  him  over,  an'  laid  him  down  on  the 
wisp  i'  straw  fornenst  the  fire. 

" <  Ye  have  God's  blessin'  an'  an  ould  man's  for  that,  any 
way,  Shandy,'  siz  he.  '  Take  up  this  big  coat  an'  dry  it 
for  me  —  if  I  want  ye  again,  I'll  call  ye.' 

"'When  I  gets  up  to  Mickey's,  there  was  a  brave, 
rousin'  fire  on ;  so  I  sits  down,  and  siz  I  to  Mickey,  '  'Am 
thinkin'  Brine  an'  the  wife  'ont  put  this  over  tliim.' 

" '  It'll  be  nick-an'-go  with  them,'  siz  Mickey ;  '  an' 
more's  the  pity,  for  Brine  an'  Kitty  were  dacent,  civil, 
honest  neighbors.' 

"'Thrue  for  ye,  Mickey,'  siz  I.  'It  ought  to  be  in 
them  any  way ;  for  if  they  tuck  it  from  the  ould  stock, 
there  never  was  onything  but  dacency  left  at  their  doore. 
But  shure,'  siz  I  again,  '  I  thought  Brine  was  betther  aff.' 

" '  An'  so  he  was,'  siz  Mickey,  '  clane  an'  comfortable  till 
misfortin  overtuck  him  — but  I  suppose  ye  heerd  it  afore.' 

"  *  Not  a  word,'  siz  I.  '  I  live  a  good  stretch  from  this 
—  he  might  be  dead  an'  buried  for  me.' 

"  '  Well,'  siz  Mickey,  '  it's  asy  toul'.  He  had  two  sons 
an'  a  girl  last  year  —  in  deed  an'  word,  as  good,  well- 
lookin'  childher  as  ony  poor  man  might  wish  to  see  about 
his  fireside.  One  iv  the  boys  was  goin'  on  twenty,  an'  a 
brave  help  he  was  on  the  bit  i'  land,  an'  the  ither  was 
risin'  sixteen  ;  the  girl  was  but  a  wee  girsah,  runriin'  about 
the  house,  an'  herdin'  the  cows  an'  sheep.  Well,  it  was 
jist  drawin'  on  this  time  last  year  that  a  poor  woman, 
luckin'  for  her  bit  an'  her  bed,  came  to  his  door,  an'  axed 


154  SHANDY  M4GUIKE,   OR 

for  a  night's  lodgin'.  AY  coorse  she  was  welkim'd  to  the 
run  i'  the  kitchen,  an'  a  shake-down  in  the  corner,  as  ivry 
creathur  that's  goin'  the  road  has  a  right  to.  Nixt  morn- 
in',  lo  and  behowld  ye !  she  wasn't  able  to  rise  —  com- 
plainin'  of  her  head  an'  rackin'  pains  in  her  back ;  but 
Brine  an'  the  wife  thought  nothin'  av  it  for  two  or  three 
days,  till  ould  Shelah-wore  come  in,  an'  tould  them  plump 
it  was  the  faver.  Well,  ye  may  be  sartin  the  creathurs 
were  tarrible  frikened  about  the  disase,  in  swithers  whither 
to  keep  the  sick  woman,  or  bring  her  to  the  town,  and  let 
the  Rector  take  care  av  her  out  i'  the  poor-money  ;  for  she 
was  some  sort  av  a  Protestan,  any  way,  seein'  there  was 
nather  cross  or  bades  about  her,  nor  niver  minshind  the 
priest. 

" '  'Am  afeerd,  honest  woman,'  siz  Brine  to  her  one  day 
afther  she  got  very  bad  intirely,  *  'am  afeerd  ye'r  not  think- 
in'  i'  yer  sowl  as  ye  ought  to  do.  Maybe  it's  betther  for 
me  to  go  for  the  priest,  av  ye  lake  to  have  him  —  'ill  be 
passin'  that  way  to  the  docthor's  for  the  dhrugs ;  so  it's  no 
throuble  at  all,  av  ye  be  onaisy  to  see  him  in  yer  difiquilty.' 

"  '  'Am  not  av  his  way  i'  thinkin','  siz  she ;  '  but  if  ye'd 
get  me  the  Recthor,  I'd  be  behowlden  to  ye  —  I  want  to 
see  him  very  much.' 

" « Ough  ! '  siz  Brine,  *  in  regard  i'  that,'  siz  he,  *  we 
needn't  be  at  the  bother ;  sure  wee  Peggy  here  can  read 
the  Bible  to  ye,  if  it's  that  ye  want.  Ony  way,  he  wudii't 
come  —  sure  it's  the  faver  ye  have.' 

"  '  I  have  somethin'  to  tell  him,'  siz  she,  '  afore  I  die  — 
bring  him  to  me,  for  God's  sake.  He'll  come  if  ye  tell 
him  it's  a  Protestan  woman  that's  in  it,  an'  can't  die  till 
she  sees  him  —  that  she  wants  to  speak  to  him  about 
somethin'  that  lies  heavy  on  her  conscience.' 

" '  It's  the  first  time  I  heerd  av  it,'  siz  Brine,  t  that  a 
Protestan  minister  cud  be  av  any  sarvice  to  ye  in  that 
line ;  but  as  ye  axed  me  for  God's  sake  I'll  not  refuse  ye.' 

"  So  aff  Brine  went  to  the  Moor,  an'  whin  he  got  there 
he  tould  the  sarvint  he  wanted  to  see  the  Recthor. 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  155 

" '  What  d'ye  want  with  him  ? '  siz  the  sarvint,  mighty 
proud. 

"  '  There's  a  sick  Protestan  woman,'  siz  Brine,  '  dying  on 
the  Cairn,  at  my  house,  an'  she  wants  to  see  him  very  bad.' 

" '  Well,  ye  may  go  about  yer  bisness,'  siz  the  sarvant : 
'  he  can't  lave  the  company  —  they're  at  cards  now,  and 
•won't  be  disturbed  —  so  be  off.' 

" '  Bad  luck  to  yer  ugly  face,'  siz  Brine,  seem'  the  impe- 
rance  i'  the  spalpeen ;  ' d'ye  think  'am  a  dog,  that  ye'd 
ordher  me  that  way  ? '  spakin'  loud,  an'  goin'  in  i'  the  door 
in  spite  av  him.  The  powdered  fellow  boned  Brine,  an' 
was  goin'  to  malavouge  him,  when  the  misthress  herself 
cum  down,  an'  axed  the  rason  i'  the  ruction. 

"  *  It's  a  sick  woman,  yer  ladyship,'  siz  Brine,  '  that's  not 
expected  any  time ;  she's  at  my  house,  an'  sint  me  down 
to  the  Recthor  — ' 

"  '  Oh,  to  be  sure,'  siz  the  misthress ;  *  poor  creathur,  why 
wudn't  she  get  somethin'  ?  —  Ye  did  right,  honest  man, 
to  force  yer  way  on  an  arrand  i'  charity.  Take  care, 
James,'  siz  she,  terrible  sharp  to  the  sarvuat,  'how  ye  thrate 
people  that's  comin'  on  sich  bisness,  or  av  ye  don't,  ye'll 
get  yer  walkin'  papers.  Go  up  now,'  siz  she,  '  an'  get  me  a 
ticket  for  the  'spensary  (dispensary)  ;  I'll  write  to  the 
docthor's  man  to  sen'  her  some  medicin.' 

" '  Yer  ladyship,'  siz  Brine,  '  maybe  ye'd  send  Docthor 
Snodgrass  himself  — •  she's  mortial  bad.  Shelah-wore 
thinks  she  has  her  death  on  her.' 

"'Oh,  no;  'am  sorry,'  siz  she,  'he  can't  go  —  he's  here 
now  with  a  power  iv  company,  an'  can't  lave  us  ;  but  the 
medicin  '11  jist  do  as  well.' 

«  '  An'  what  'ill  I  say  to  her  about  the  Recthor  ?  —  she 
wants  him,  too.  She  tould  me  she  had  somethin'  to  say 
to  his  reverence  that  lay  heavy  on  her  sowl,  and  cudn't 
die  till  she'd  spake  to  him.' 

"  '  The  Recthor ! '  siz  she  again  ;  '  oh,  that's  impossible ! 
—  he  cudn't  lave  the  company  the-night,  but  maybe  he 


156  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

might  go  the-morrow.  An'  who  is  she,'  siz  the  Recthor's 
wife,  4  that  she's  so  onaisy  to  see  him  ? ' 

"  '  She's  a  poor  woman,'  siz  Brine,  '  luckin'  for  her  morsel 
to  eat,  an'  the  roof  to  cover  her,  an'  one  i'  yerselves  into 
the  bargain.' 

"  '  An'  how  —  arn't  you  a  Catholic?  —  how  did  she  hap 
pen  to  come  to  your  place,  av  she's  one  av  us  ? ' 

"'Why,'  siz  Brine,  'whin  she  axed  me  for  a  night's 
lodgin'  I  didn't  wait  to  fin'  out  what  she  wus  —  I  let  her 
in  for  God  Almighty's  sake ;  an'  I'd  do  the  same  av  she 
wus  a  Turk  or  a  hathen ;  but  it  was  only  nixt  mornin'  we 
found  she  was  qnwell,  an'  now  JShelah-wore  says  it's  the 
black  faver  — ' 

"  '  Black  faver  ! '  siz  the  rninisther's  wife,  jist  like  one  'd 
see  a  ghost,  and  steppin'  back  from  Brine,  mighty  bewild- 
ered-lookin'.  '  Why,  ye  villain,'  siz  she,  '  didn't  ye  tell  me 
that  afore  ?  Begone  out  i'  the  house,'  siz  she,  '  this  minit. 
Want  my  husban'  to  visit  a  vagabond  woman,  maybe  — 
and  bring  the  faver  home  on  his  back  to  his  family  !  Be 
gone,'  siz  she, '  or.ye'll  smit  me  —  ye  have  it  on  yer  clothes 
—  put  him  out,'  siz  she  to  the  sarvints,  '  an'  let  him  wait 
there  till  I  write  the  ordher  to  the  'spensary.' 

"  Well,  dear,  out  poor  Brine  was  shouldhered  into  the 
yard,  an'  there  he  stud  waitin'  for  the  docthor's  line.  He 
wusn't  long  there  till  the  same  augenach  that  spoke  to 
him  first  comes  with  a  book  an'  a  piece  i'  paper  in  his 
hand,  an'  siz  he,  '  Take  these  an'  go  roun'  to  the  parlor 
windy  —  the  masther  wants  to  see  ye.' 

"  So  when  he  got  roun',  the  Recthor  throws  up  the 
windy,  an'  siz  he,  'Take  that  piece  of  paper  to  the  docthor's 
man,  an'  he'll  send  some  nice  medicin  for  the  sick  woman, 
an'  tell  ye  how  to  give  it  to  her.  An'  that  book  there's  a 
small  Bible.  Tell  her  to  read  it  piously  and  devoutly  ;  an' 
if  she  can't  read,  let  her  get  some  one  that  can  ;  an'  tell 
her  to  thrust  in  Christ,  an'  she'll  get  a  change  av  heart,  set 
in  case  she's  a  sinner.  I  marked  the  place  where  she'll 


THICKS   UPON  TKAVELLEKS.  157 

get  comfort  out  iv  —  it's  a  chapter  in  the  book  av  Job  — 
it  '11  tach  her  patience.' 

"  '  So  yer  reverence  'on't  come  ? '  siz  Brine. 

"  '  Oh,  I  can't,'  siz  the  Recthor  — '  I  have  company,  an' 
my  wife's  tarrible  feerd  av  the  faver ;  but  shure  'am  sendin' 
the  blissed  Word  to  her  —  the  happy  tidins.' 

"'We  have  that  a'ready,'  siz  Brine,  'I've  a  Bible  at 
home,  so  I  needn't  be  kerryin'  this  one,'  —  an'  Brine  left  the 
book  on  the  windy-stool  —  c  more  betoken,'  siz  he, l  it's  small 
prent,  an'  not  so  aisy  to  read  as  our  own ;  an'  regardin' 
this  piece  av  paper,'  siz  he,  « I'll  lave  it  too,  for  God  be 
thankit,  I've  a  testher  in  my  pocket  that  'ill  jist  answer 
the  same.' 

"  c  What ! '  siz  the  Recthor,  mighty  angry.  '  D'ye  despise 
the  word  o'  God,  ye  papist  villain  ?' 

"  '  God  forbid,'  siz  Brine,  back  to  him  again  ;  'but  I  de 
spise  the  man  that  gives  it.  It's  poor  charity,  that,  to  a 
woman  that's  dyin'  —  a  stranger  undher  a  stranger's  roof 
—  'ithout  a  relation  to  luck  afther  her.  She's  a  Protestan 
too,  an'  her  own  ministher  forsakes  her  bekase  his  wife's 
afraid  i'  the  faver.  Av  that  be  religion,'  siz  Brine,  '  it's  a 
wondherful  cowld  one.  But  God  that's  above  us  all  'ill 
reward  ye  accordin'  to  yer  desarvin' ;  for  yer  a  bad  minis 
ter  for  the  poor,  whativer  ye  may  be  fer  the  rich.'  So  with 
that  he  came  away. 

"  Afther  gittin'  a  wheen  hap'orths  i'  drugs  in  the  town, 
Brine  cum  home,  and  tould  the  woman  all  that  happened. 

"'Well,'  says  the  creathur,  Vit's  hard  to  die  this  way, 
'ithout  some  clargy.  You  may  as  well  get  me  the  priest, 
for  I  must  see  some  one  I  can  thrust.' 

"  Off  Brine  wint,  and  you  may  be  sure  it  wusn't  long 
till  Father  Domnick  was  here,  an'  prepared  her  as  well  as 
he  cud  in  the  short  time  he  had.  When  he  was  jist  step- 
pin'  out  i'  the  doore,  goin'  home  again,  the  woman  tould 
him  she  had  some  papers  to  lave  with  him  ;  an'  takin'  out 
her  thrash-bag  from  undher  her  head,  she  give  them  to 


158  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OB 

him,  tellin'  us  all  that  she  wished  him  to  read  them,  an' 
keep  them. 

"Well,  as  I  wus  sayin',  the  woman  died,  and  was 
buried  in  Tarranilly  graveyard.  So  that  fared  well,  till 
about  a  week  afther,  Brine's  ouldest  stockaugh  (boy)  got 
sick  i'  the  faver,  an'  died;  in  a  fortnight  more  the  nixt  one, 
and  the  wee  girsah  is  lyin'  in  the  room  there  below  with 
the  rest  i'  the  weans.  We  tuck  her  up,  the  creathur, 
when  the  mother  got  sick,  and  ould  Shelah  cum  to  take 
care  av  her. 

"  When  Brine's  last  boy  died,  .afther  payin'  docthors, 
an'  wakin'  him,  an'  spendin'  his  time  runnin'  here  an' 
there,  he  hadn't  a  four-footed  baste  in  the  wurl  but  one 
cow,  an'  more  than  that,  not  a  seed-pratee  in  the  groun' 
nor  one  to  pit  in  it.  So  we  all  jined  our  shoulders  the- 
gither,  an'  give  him  a  wee  help  —  some  ploughed  a  day, 
ithers  give  him  a  spade's  settin'  i'  pratees,  an'  more  a  lock 
i'  barley  or  oats :  that  was  all  right,  an'  ivery  one  was 
shure  he'd  soon  be  on  his  legs  again,  when  the  bailie  came 
an'  give  him  notish  to  quet  for  arrairs  i'  rint.  Well,  May 
day  cum  on,  the  rint  wusn't  paid,  nather  the  ould  one,  nor 
the  runnin'  half-year ;  an'  then  poor  Brine  foun'  out  at  last 
that  it  was  the  onluckiest  day  av  his  life  when  he  left  the 
Bible  on  the  windy-stool.  Cantwell,  his  bailie,  an'  the 
police  were  here  early  on  the  mornin'  i'  the  second  i'  May, 
turned  him  out  av  house  an'  home,  seized  the  growin'  crop 
for  the  rint,  tuck  ivry  pinsworth  in  the  place,  as  much  as  to 
the  spoon  on  the  dresser,  and  tore  down  the  roof  an'  the 
roof-tree,  till  there's  now  nothin'  to  be  seen,  where  he 
once  lived  dacent  and  comfortable,  but  the  bare  walls. 
Brine  was  a  beggar.  The  rest  is  aisy  tould  ;  he  had  no 
place  to  put  his  head  in ;  an'  for  the  sake  av  the  God  that 
give  me  the  means,  an'  seein'  it  was  for  charity  to  the 
stranger  he  suffered,  I  tould  him  to  take  the  barn  ye  see 
him  in,  to  thry  an'  live  in  it,  an'  while  Providence  'd  send 
me  a  share  iv  his  bounty,  I'd  give  him  his  part. 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  159 

"When  Father  Domnick  was  done  preparin'  Brine  an' 
the  wife  for  death,  he  cum  up  to  Mickey's,  washed  his 
hands  and  face,  an'  afther  pitten  on  his  big-coat  —  it  was 
now  as  dhry  as  powdher,  seein'  he  staid  a'most  two  hours 
with  the  sick  creathurs  —  was  ready  for  the  tramp  again. 
Feen  a  bit  but  tired  as  I  was  myself,  I'd  rather  be  on  the 
road  than  so  convanient  to  the  faver;  an'  as  the  rain  was 
over,  and  the  moon  shinin'  as  bright  as  a  new  thirteen^  aff* 
we  started  for  Donegal,  in  place  av  Dennis  Sheeran's  ;  for 
the  priest  wanted  to  see  Father  John  the  curate,  who  was 
onwell,  an'  ony  way,  it  was  only  two  short  miles,  instead 
av  six,  with  a  warm  bed  at  the  ind  av  it. 

"  When  we  got  as  far  as  the  Moor,  siz  I  to  Father  Dom 
nick,  *  'Am  thinkin'  it's  betther  take  the  near-cut  through 
the  Recthor's  place  here — it  'ill  save  iz  more  nor  half  a 
mile.' 

"<Och,  no,'  siz  he;  'I  don't  lake  to  meddle  or  make 
with  him.  Maybe  some  one  'd  see  us ;  they're  afeerd  av 
the  Ribbonmen  comin'  about  the  house,  'am  tould,  an 
might  be  watchinV 

" '  Pugh-hugh ! '  si^  I,  mighty  onaisy  to  get  to  bed. 
4  Shure  it's  four  o'clock  now,  yer  reverence ;  there's  not  a 
movin'  bein'  but's  asleep  this  time  i'  night.  Give  us  yer 
han','  siz  I,  '  an'  don't  be  scared.'  So  I  got  up  on  the  ditch, 
an'  helped  him  over. 

"  Well,  when  we  got  into  the  wee  grove  i'  bushes,  ahint 
the  glebe-house,  I  thought  I  saw  somethin'  movin'  along, 
and  siz  I,  *  What's  that,  yer  reverence  ? '  siz  I,  beginning 
to  feel  a  kind  of  fluttherin'  about  my  heart.  c  Isn't  that 
some  one  above  there?'  siz  I,  again.  Feen  a  word  or 
word  he  said  ;  and  then  I  turned  my  head  to  see  was  he 
ahint  to  me  ;  but,  begorra,  the  priest  saw  it  afore  me,  'am 
thinkin',  for  he  was  gone  as  clane  as  yisterday.  So  I 
moved  on  a  couple  i'  steps  more,  an'  lucked  again,  an'  there 
was  the  villain  eyin'  me  straight  in  the  face,  with  a  gun  in 
his  fist.  I  knew  if  I'd  run,  it  'id  be  into  my  coffin.  Up 


160  SHANDY  M'GOTKE,   OB 

he  makes  to  myself  in  a  giffy,  with  his  finger  on  the  thrig- 
ger  ready  to  blaze  av  I'd  budge. 

" '  Stand  ! '  siz  he,  <  or  I'll  blow  the  sowl  out  i'  ye.' 

"  Well,  ye  may  consider  weans,  I  was  makin'  buttons 
when  I  hard  that  —  sartin  he  was  an  Orangeman,  an' 
maybe  takin'  me  for  a  Ribbonman,  or  a  papish  at  laste.  Ye 
may  be  shure  I  was  in  swithers  what  to  do  with  meself — 
the  cowld  sweat  powrin'  aff  me  lake  hailstones.  *  'Am 
shot,'  siz  I,  *  av  I  run,  an'  am  thransported  av  I  don't.'  So 
getherin'  up  all  the  stray  courage  I  cud  convaniently  mas- 
ther,  I  boulted  on. 

" '  Hugh ! '  siz  I ;  «  I  suppose  ye  heerd  the  news,  honest 
man,  or  ye  wudn't  be  so  early  a-fut.  Is  the  masther  at 
home  ? ' 

"  '  What  news,  ye  scoundrel  ? '  siz  he. 

"  '  Scoundrel ! '  siz  I  again,  luckin'  mighty  surpraised  at 
him.  <  Well,  in  troth,  dear,  it's  little  dacency  yer  mother 
tached  ye,'  siz  I,  *  or  ye  wudn't  spake  sich  oncivil  langidge, 
so  ye  wudn't,  my  bonchal.' 

" '  'All  blow  yer  brains  out,  ye  papish  villin,'  siz  he, 
mighty  angry,  an'  raisin'  the  gun. 

"'  Shure  there's  no  one  hindrin','  siz  I. 

" '  An'  what's  yer  business  here,  ye  croppy  rascal  ?  '  siz 
he,  as  cross  an'  sharp  as  a  tow-hackle. 

"  '  Murdher ,'  siz  I,  <  's  my  business  —  will  that  plaze  ye  ? ' 

"  « Murdher ! '  siz  he  again,  afeerd-lake. 

"  '  Yes,'  siz  I,  lucking  mighty  bowld  at  him,  an'  risin'  my 
voice ;  '  murdher  an'  robbery  an'  house-burnin's  my  busi 
ness,  since  I  see  ye  didn't  hear  it  afore :  it's  fitther  ye'd  be 
where  ye'r  more  awantin'  than  skulkin'  here.' 

"'Where?'  siz  he. 

"  '  In  Coolbeg,'  siz  I ;  4  but  I  must  see  the  masther  this 
minit,  I  tell  ye,  an'  don't  dar  to  stap  me  on  an  arrind  av 
life  an'  death.  Isn't  Oliver  Wilson's,  an'  Wully  Beaty's, 
an'  all  that's  in  them  burnt  to  the  groun'  —  burnt  to  cin- 
dhers  —  not  as  much  left  as  ye'd  light  yer  pipe  with  ? ' 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  161 

" '  My  cousins,'  siz  he,  starin'  at  me  as  white  as  a  sheet, 
an'  drappin'  the  gun. 

"  l  Deil  a  less,'  siz  I,  *  av  they  were  yer  grandfathers  — 
is  there  a  sowl  in  the  country  but's  out  ?  ' 

"  Luck  was  in  my  side,  boys  ;  for  may  I  niver  do  harm, 
if  myself  knew  him  from  inortial  Adam.  An'  siz  I,  goin' 
on  a  step  or  two  — 

"  *  I  must  see  his  reverence,'  siz  I ;  <  that's  my  ordhers.' 

«'  Stop!  'siz  he. 

"  Well,  I  turned  roun',  av  course,  an'  there  I  sees  my 
gentleman  standin'  with  his  back  to  a  tree,  jist  as  dum- 
foundherd-luckin'  as  av  he  goin  to  mount  the  gallis. 

"  *  Hout,  man  ! '  siz  I,  *  nonsense  —  niver  let  a  thrifle  cow 
ye  that  way.' 

" '  Oh,  my  cousins !  my  cousins !  murdhered  in  cowld 
blood,'  siz  he,  clappin'  his  hands,  an'  keenein'  lake  an  ould 
crone  at  a  berial. 

" '  It's  av  murdherin'  the  papishes,'  siz  I,  *  ye  ought  to 
be  thinkin',  an'  not  ravin'  there  —  the  villins  —  take  up 
yer  gun,'  siz  I,  stoopin'  an'  takin  her  up  myself;  '  take  up 
yer  gun,  and  pepper  the  idolather  vagabonds.  Come 
along,'  siz  I ;  an'  I  led  him  up  by  the  breast  av  his  coat, 
till  we  wur  passin  the  big  house,  goin'  down  to  the  por- 
ther's  gate,  whin  he  stapped. 

" c  Where   ir  ye   goin'  ? '   siz   he,   blubberin'  an'  cryin'. 

•  Shure  there's  the  house.' 

"  Well,  I  know,'  siz  I ;  { but  as  his  honor's  sleepin',  'am 
lazy  to  disturb  him.' 

" '  Disturb  him ! '  siz  he,  brakin'  from  me  lake  a  tiger  ; 

*  an'  my  two  cousins  kilt  an'  massacrated !     Let  me  go,' 

siz  he  ;  4  by  the  H we'll  not  lave  a  bloody  papish  alive 

in  the  three  parishes  —  the  murdherin',  house-burnin'  cut 
throats.      We'll   send   them    where    they'll    get    burnin' 
enough.' 

"  'Aisy  —  aisy,  avourneen,'  siz  I ;  '  as  yer  goin'  to  send 
all  the  papishes  in  the  three  parishes  down  there,  'ill  go 
11 


162  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OB 

bail  ye'l  be  sendin'  me  among  the  rest ;  an'  as  it's  not  jist 
convanient  for  me  to  go  so  soon,  I'll  throuble  ye,'  siz  I, 
liftin'  the  gun,  '  to  keep  a  spenchal  on  yer  tongue  for  a 
while,  an'  walk  on  afore  me  quate  an'  aisy,  or  av  ye  don't, 
'all  be  temped  to  send  ye  to  the  low  countries  yerself  first, 
to  carry  the  news.' 

"  Well,  I  needn't  tell  ye,  he  saw  in  a  crack  it  was  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  pillion  he  got ;  so  bad  cess  to  the  word 
or  word  come  out  iv  his  mouth  till  we  got  over  the  steps 
at  the  gate,  an'  down  in  this  side  i'  Billy  M'Dade's  the 
blacksmith. 

" c  Stap  now,'  siz  I,  when  we  cum  to  the  holla  in  the 
road.  c  Stap,  an'  on  yer  knees  with  ye.' 

" <  OiTah !  what  for  ? '  siz  lie. 

" '  Why  it's  the  quatest  place  we'll  get,'  siz  I. 

"  *  What  for  ?  '  says  he  again,  as  pale  as  a  parsnip. 

" '  To  say  yer  prayers,  an'  make  yer  sowl,  av  coorse,' 
siz  I. 

" l  An'  what  d'ye  mane  ? '  siz  he.  '  Shure  yer  not  goin' 
to  murdher  me.' 

"  «  I  can't  help  it,'  siz  I. 

"  '  Och  ! '  siz  he,  <  yer  only  frightenin'  me.' 

"  *  Deil  a  help  I  can  do  it,'  siz  I ;  '  an'  in  troth  and  con 
science,  it  goes  against  my  grain  to  kill  ye  in  this  lonely 
way  —  it's  not  lake  a  scrimmage  in  a  fair  or  market ;  but 
what's  the  use  iv  talking  ?  —  it  was  afore  me,  it  seems  — 
it  was  my  luck  to  meet  ye,  I  suppose.' 

"  '  Och  !  och!  don't  say  that,'  siz  he,  trimblin'  and  shak- 
in'  like  the  happer  av  a  mill. 

"  *  Oh,  begorra,'  siz  I, '  the  priest  left  it  on  me  for  pen 
ance  —  not  a  lie  in  it  more  nor's  in  yer  Bible.  I  have  six 
murdhers  yit  to  do  afther  this  one.  If  ^had  ketched  the 
Recthor  instid  av  you,  I'd  be  free,  seein'  he'd  be  aqual  to 
seven  common  heretics  himself.  But  down  with  ye,'  siz  I ; 
'I  haven't  time  to  wait —  down  with  ye,  an'  say  a  mouth 
ful  i'  prayers.' 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  163 

" '  Oh,  for  the  sake  iv  yer  own  sowl,  don't  murdher  me,' 
siz  he. 

"'  Faith,  dear,  it's  for  the  sake  i'  that  same,'  siz  I,  '  'am 
doin'  it  —  to  keep  it  as  long  out  i'  purgathory  as  I  can  — 
down  with  ye,  an'  don't  delay  me.' 

"  '  But  think  i'  my  wife  an'  weans,'  siz  he,  *  that's  behint 
me.' 

" « Think  you  av  Teddy  Houlahan's  ghost,'  siz  I,  « that 
ye's  murdhered  the  other  day,  an'  that  can't  rest  till  there's 
seven  i'  your  kind  killed  fornenst  it.' 

"  *  I'll  give  ye  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  wurl,'  siz  he, 
''av  ye  spare  my  life.  Here's  ten  poun'  I've  to  pay  the  hal- 
iday  rint,  an'  'ill  .bless  yer  bones  in  the  clay.  Oh,  for  the 
sake  av  my  poor  wife  an'  childher,  spare  me  this  time,  an' 
I'll  niver  wear  an  orange-ribbon  while  I  live.' 

" *  Well,  go  down  on  yer  knees,  any  way,'  siz  I ;  *  an' 
now,  what's  yer  name  ? ' 

"  c  Andy  Dinsmoor,'  siz  he ;  '  'am  the  father  i'  five  help 
less  childher.' 

"  '  Well,  then,'  siz  I,  '  Andy  Dinsmoor,  take  yer  purse 
with  ye,  an'  yer  poor  cowardly  life  along  with  it,  for  I'd 
scorn  to  touch  them ;  an'  when  ye  hear  yer  ministher 
prachin'  av  papishes  killin'  an'  butcherin'  heretics  as  a  duty 
av  their  religion,  remember  this  night,'  siz  I,  c  an'  me  afore 
ye  with  a  gun  in  my  fist ;  an'  when  ye  get  a  poor  Catholic 
in  yer  power,  don't  massacrate  him  as  ye  did  Teddy  Hou- 
lahan.  An'  whin  yer  Recthor's  prachin  chanty,  tell  him 
to  go  and  visit  the  poor,  lake  the  heart-broken  priest  that 
come  along  with  me  the  night  —  him  that  ye'd  have  shot 
av  ye  had  seen  him  a  while  ago.  Tell  him  to  go,  lake 
him,  over  the  mountains  on  fut  to  the  poor  av  his  parish, 
an'  not  to  be  ashamed  nor  afeerd .  to  go  into  the  dissolit 
cabins  where  the  poverty  an'  the  faver  is ;  an'  av  he  can 
do  their  sowls  no  good,  let  him  give  them  somethin'  aside 
the  bare,  cowld  Bible  —  let  him  give  them  the  bit  an'  the 
sup  for  the  poor  body ;  an'  tell  him  that  I  said  it,'  siz  I : 


164  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OB 

4  tell  him  whin  God  Almighty  calls  him  up  to  give  in  his 
account,  that  it  'ill  be  a  poor  excuse  to  say  his  wife  was 
afeerd  i'  .the  faver,  an'  wudn't  let  him  go  to  God's  own 
creathurs  when  they  wur  dyin',  an'  wanted  to  see  him  in 
their  last  diffiquilty.  Tell  him  that  his  wife  'ill  be  a  mill 
stone  roun'  his  neck,  an'  that  he'll  find  the  weight  of  it 
whin  him,  an'  Brine  Horisky,  an'  the  poor  woman  that  he 
sint  the  'spensary-ticket  an'  the  Bible  to,  meets  some  day 
or  other.  Tell  him  that]  siz  I ;  '  an'  now  rise  up,  Andy 
Dinsmoor,  an'  be  aff  about  yer  bisness  —  I'll  lave  the  gun 
where  ye'll  get  it  safe  an'  soun  ;  but  if  iver  I  see  ye  wear- 
in'  an  orange-ribbon  or  watching  papishes  again,  I'll  shoot 
ye  as  sure  as  there's  a  heart  in  yer  body.! " 

Shandy  ceased,  and  stretched  over  his  hand  for  the  pipe. 

"  And  what  happened  Father  Domnick  ?  "  asked  Ned, 
handing  the  tongs  and  the  pipe  across  the  hearth. 

« Why,  he  slept  at  Father  John's  that  night,  an'  held 
the  station  at  Dennis  Sheeran's  nixt  day,  av  coorse." 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  165 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SHOWING    HOW  THE    DEVOUT    BEADING    OF  THE  BIBLE  CON 
TROLS  AND  CALMS  THE  PASSIONS. 

THE  reader  will  have  the  goodness  to  remember  that 
"  Dick  the  Oniedaun,"  agreeably  to  the  injunctions  of  our 
hero,  handed  a  letter  to  Doogan,  which  he  said  his  mother 
directed  him  to  return  as  soon  as  possible,  and  for  which 
civility  he  received,  instead  of  the  threatened  punishment, 
that  worthy  man's  grateful  acknowledgment  in  the  shape 
of  a  silver  sixpence. 

Now  it  happened  that  Doogan,  unfortunately  for  him 
self,  never  thought  of  the  possibility  of  being  overreached, 
and  without  hesitation  proceeded  with  the  missive  to  the 
quarters  of  the  revenue-police.  He  handed  the  letter  to 
the  barrack-guard,  and  requesting  it  might  be  given  to  the 
lieutenant  of  the  party  with  as  little  delay  as  possible, 
returned  to  execute,  as  we  have  already  described,  his  de 
signs  against  the  person  of  Frank  Devlin. 

When  Joice  read  the  contents  of  the  letter,  he  arose 
from  his  chair,  folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  paced 
the  room  in  solemn  strides,  meditating  as  he  went,  like 
one  over  whose  fate  some  terrible  danger  impended,  and 
to  evade  which  it  required  him  to  bring  all  his  ingenuity 
and  prudence  to  the  trial. 

"Why,"  muttered  he  at  length,  "this  is  most  vexatious 
—  absolutely  horrible  —  to  search  the  house  for  smuggled 
goods,  where  I  have  received  so  much  kindness  —  and  a 
brother  Orangeman's  too  —  that  brother  a  magistrate,  a 
minister  —  and  himself  the  greatest  enemy  the  smuggler 


166  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OE- 

ever  met  upon  the  bench.  If  I  proceed  to  the  search,  I 
'may  leave  the  country  at  once  —  the  Orangemen  of  the 
neighborhood  may  take  my  life  in  revenge  for  the  insult 
offered  their  master  and  chaplain ;  and  if  I  don't,  I  lose 
my  commission  —  worse  still.  There's  Miss  Cantwell,  too 

—  she  will  never  survive  it.     Archibald  says  she  is  ever 
speaking  of  me.     I  know  it  —  her  attentions  to  me  are 
unmistakable.     I  never  gave  her  cause  —  but  what  then  ? 

—  that  don't  alter  the  case ;  and  to  bring  up  a  party  of 
revenue-police  to  search  her  brother's  house  for  contraband 
liquor  —  ay,  that's  the  devil  of  it.     Well,"  said  he  again, 
after  a  short  interval  of  silence,   during  which  he  stood 
still,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  of  the  apartment  —  "  Well, 
I'll  ring  for  the  sergeant  —  he's  a  brother,  and  a  member 
of  the   lodge ;  perhaps  he  may   devise  some  plan,  for  I 
can't." 

He  accordingly  rang  the  bell,  and  the  sergeant  ap 
peared. 

"Read  that,"  said  Joice,  pointing  to  the  letter  on  the 
table,  "  and  let  me  hear  what  you  think  of  it." 

"  Very  disagreeable,"  said  the  sergeant,  laying  it  down 
again  upon  the  table. 

"  Very,"  replied  the  lieutenant,  emphatically. 

"  But  it  might  be  worse,  sir,"  observed  the  sergeant. 

"  Worse !  how  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  it  were  seized!  for  then,  very  likely,  the  magis 
trate  would  be  superseded,  and  the  glorious  cause  suffer ; 
you  wouldn't  wish  that,  sir  ?  " 

"No:  well  —  " 

"  Well,  then,  give  him  the  wink  — just  a  hint  that  you 
might  happen  to  go  that  way  about  ten  o'clock  to-night." 

"  Very  good ;  and  then  — " 

"  Then  discharge  your  duty,  sir,  fearlessly,  as  the  laws 
of  the  service  require." 

"  Right,"  said  Joice  ;  "  excellent,  sergeant ;  we  have 
both  hit  on  the  same  expedient.  It  requires  secrecy  and 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  -  167 

caution,  however,  to  manage  it  properly,  and  knowing  you 
to  be  a  prudent  fellow,  and  one  of  ourselves  besides,  I 
resolved  to  consult  you.  Now,  you  had  better  go  your 
self  to  the  Moor  this  evening,  see  Miss  Cantwell  (the 
Rector  and  Agent  will  both  be  at  the  lodge),  and  break 
the  matter  to  her  as  cautiously  and  respectfully  as  possi 
ble.  Observe  me,  if  the  liquor  be  in  the  house,  she  will 
at  once  take  the  hint ;  if  it  be  not,  she  may  get  offended 
at  our  officiousness ;  so  let  the  circumstances  best  direct 
you  how  to  act.  When  night  falls,  go  up  as  secretly  as 
possible  —  say  I  shall  be  there  at  ten  o'clock  precisely. 
Go  now,  and  act  judiciously."  The  sergeant  quitted  the 
room. 

Rebecca  Cantwell,  during  all  that  afternoon,  appeared 
abstracted  and  melancholy.  She  sat  silent  and  alone  at 
the  window  of  her  boudoir,  looking  down  on  the  park- 
entrance  below  with  a  fixity  of  gaze  that  denoted  any 
thing  but  attention  to  the  busy  scenes  that  were  passing 
on  the  road.  She  sat  there,  within  that  high  window, 
pale,  tall,  and  erect  as  a  statue,  and  so  thin  that  one  could 
imagine  she  had  now  lost  all  of  earthly  mould  that  once 
filled  up  the  jarring  and  angular  vacuities  of  her  frame. 
Indeed  she  would  seem,  to  one  who  beheld  her  there  for 
the  first  time,  to  have  worn  that  fragile  and  attenuated 
covering  of  clay,  more  as  a  temple  .for  the  spirit  within  to 
dwell  yet  for  a  little  time,  than  as  an  assemblage  of  ele 
ments  mixed  up  to  form  a  mortal  body,  or  to  be  the  me 
dium  of  human  sensibilities.  '  But  it  was  only  seeming: 
there  was  nothing  real  in  the  picture.  Within  that  light 
and  fragile  body  beat  a  heart  as  susceptible  of  pleasurable 
emotions,  as  when  the  blush  of  happy  sixteen  had  mantled 
her  cheek. 

"Now  past  the  meridian  of  life,  she  was  sliding  down  far 
away  from  the  stars  she  once  attracted  around  her,  but 
never  could  absorb ;  and  as  she  neared  the  termination  of 
her  course,  her  rays  became  cold  and  cheerless.  Rebecca 


168  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,   OB 

felt  this,  and  like  the  sun,  taking  a  last  look  of  the  earth 
he  had  illumed  and  warmed  by  his  beams,  and  which  he 
sorrows  yet  to  leave,  —  as  that  heavenly  orb  sends  out  its 
greatest  flood  of  glory  at  its  setting,  so  did  the  heavenly 
orbs  of  the  languishing  Miss  Cantwell  shed  their  beams 
with  treble  effulgence  on  the  heart  of  the  daring  and  gal 
lant  officer  of  revenue-police.  Yes,  indeed,  reader,  the 
lady  had  hopes  —  hopes  that  rose  up  before  her  in  her  day 
dreams,  bright  and  cheering  from  amid  the  gloom  and 
sorrows  of  her  unhappy  maiden  destiny.  Yes,  indeed, 
and  alas  for  her  pious,  holy,  and  gentle  heart!  she  placed 
her  fondest  affections  —  her  sweetest,  dearest,  last  hope 
on  Joice.  It  was  but  the  night  before  he  appeared  to  her 
in  a  vision,  and  beckoned  her  to  come  away,  and  be  happy 
with  him  forever.  She  had  been  dreaming  of  her  young 
days,  her  happier  hours,  when,  light  and  joyous  as  a  sun 
beam  on  the  rippling  waters,  she  had  danced  and  laughed 
merrily  through  her  reckless  girlhood;  then  she  dreamt 
of  the  time  when  the  rejection  of  a  suitor  for  her  fair 
hand  was  an  affair  of  trifling  moment  —  of  every-day 
occurrence  —  a  thing  she  used  only  to  regard  as  a  subject 
for  joke  and  merriment;  by  degrees,  however,  the  dream 
became  less  pleasing  and  illusive;  she  even  felt  a  con 
sciousness,  which  her  slumbers  heightened  rather  than 
lessened,  that  she  had  acted  unwisely  — that  she  had  per 
mitted  opportunities  to  pass  by,  which  a  wiser  and  less 
ambitious  maiden  would  have  embraced  with  gladness. 
Still  the  dream  proceeded,'  and  carried  her  farther  and 
farther  down  the  pathway  of  life ;  each  moment  her 
fading  memory  became  less  and  less  distinct.  Queen 
Mab,  assiduous  at  her  loom,  wove  her  web  closer  and 
darker  round  the  innocent  sleeper,  till  nothing  at  length 
was  to  be  seen  but  the  future  —  dreary  and  dispiriting  as 
the  gloom  of  an  eternal  prison.  Despair  came  at  length 
like  the  ghoul  from  his  dark  caverns,  and  scowled  horribly 
upon  her ;  the  faces  of  her  rejected  suitors  appeared  one 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  169 

after  another  from  behind  the  dark  curtain,  and  laughed 
tauntingly  at  her  deplorable  situation.  She  was  just  in 
the  depth  of  her  misery,  about  to  say  to  death,  "  Come, 
thou  last  resource  of  the  wretched !  come,  thou  '  pain 
killer  ! '  dissolve  this  mortal  fabric,  and  let  the  soul  fly  out 
from  its  prison-vault ;  "  but  just  at  that  moment  she  fancied 
she  heard  a  voice,  sweet  and  silvery  as  an  angel,  exclaim, 
"  Rebecca  !  Rebecca !  —  come,  fly  with  me  ;"  and  looking 
up,  she  saw  the  clouds  break  asunder,  and  a  countenance 
peeping  out  from  behind,  joyous  and  happy  as  a  seraph's, 
fixing  its  smile  upon  her.  The  voice  was  that  of  love, 
and  the  lovely  face  that  of  Mr.  Christopher  Joice.  "  Kit 

—  Kit  —  my   own   Kit!"   she   cried,   stretching   out  her 
arms  to  the  beautiful  vision ;  "come,  and  bring  me  away 
from  this   terrible   place  —  oh!     I  am  thine  —  thine  for 
ever." 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Rebecca?"  said  her 
sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Baxter  Cantwell,  shaking  her  by  the 
arm,  for  she  had  just  entered  the  young  lady's  room  to 
inquire  her  reason  for  retiring  so  early.  "  What  nonsense, 
Rebecca  —  wake  up,  and  tell  me  who  is  this  '  Kit '  you 
invoke?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Kit,  I  know  it  is  you  —  my  own  Kit  —  thine 

—  thine  forever !" 

"  Pray  cease  this  folly,  Rebecca  —  wake  up,  and  tell  me 
whom  you  speak  of."  And  Mrs.  Cantwell  shook  the 
dreamer  still  more  roughly.  Rebecca  at  length  opened 
her  eyes,  and  looking  for  a  moment  vacantly  in  the  face 
of  her  sister,  exclaimed,  — 

"Oh,  is  it  only  you? — Why  did  you  disturb  me?  —  I 
thought  it  was — I  thought  —  "  And  turning  on  her  side, 
she  was  again  asleep  in  an  instant. 

"  Very  good,"  muttered  the  lady  of  the  house ;  "  very 
good,  my  pious,  saintly  maiden.  I  suspect  who  this  Mr. 
Kit  is  —  very  well  —  we  shall  see."  And  taking  up  the 
light,  she  returned  to  the  parlor. 


170  SHANDY   M'GUIBE,   OR 

Next  morning,  when  Rebecca  woke,  her  heart  was  full 
of  pleasing  anticipations  :  something  whispered  her,  that 
the  vision  of  the  night  would  yet  be  realized.  She  fan 
cied,  too,  that  some  one  came  athwart  her  delightful 
vision,  and  dispelled  it  somewhat  suddenly  ;  but  what  it 
was  she  could  not  recollect. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  that  same  day  (the  one  succeed 
ing  her  dream),  Miss  Cantwell  had  been  sitting,  as  the 
reader  is  already  aware,  in  her  boudoir,  looking  out  on  the 
pleasure-grounds  below.  For  the  last  half-hour  she  had 
been  apostrophizing  the  leaves,  as  they  fell  off  one  by  one 
from  the  trees  in  the  avenue,  and  lay  scattered  here  and 
there  on  the  whitening  sward.  "  Such  has  been  my  fate, 
also,"  she  continued,  turning  her  thoughts  in  upon  herself. 
"  Once  I  was  young  and  fresh  like  you  ;  but  now  —  in  a 
little  time,  and  it  seems  very,  very  short  —  now  I  am 
faded."  And  she  moved  round  to  look  in  the  mirror. 
"Yes,  thou  at  least  tellest  no  falsehoods  —  thou  reflectest 
but  an  image,  and  yet  that  image  is  a  stern  reality  —  ay, 
stern  and  terrible  —  no,  not  terrible,  no,  that  is  too  strong 
an  expression  —  but  somewhat  changed  for  the  worse  — 
the  worse  !  —  well,  I  don't  know  —  that  depends  on  men's 
taste.  Some  like  the  young,  and  some  prefer  the  —  the 
lady  a  little  more  experienced  than  the  romping  girl  of 
twenty-five. 

'  Before  Decay's  effacing  fingers 
Have  swept  the  lines  where  beauty  lingers,' 

is  an  age  young  enough,  I  should  imagine.  A  wife  should 
be  a  serious  matron,  not  a  wayward,  giddy  child.  The 
pretensions  of  young  flirts  nowadays  are  really  intolera 
ble.  Marriage  at  sixteen  !  —  it's  absolutely  frightful  —  a 
disgrace  to  the  morality  of  the  age  we  live  in.  Generally 
speaking,  men  are  fools ;  and  as  the  world  grows  older, 
the  number  increases.  «  Kit,  however,  is  not  among  that 
number ;  he  has  too  much  good  sense  to  be  running  after 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  171 

gilded  butterflies.  Worth  —  solid  worth  is  his  choice  — 
yes,  I  have  always  thought  so  —  and  last  night's  dream 
confirms  me  in  the  belief;  for  my  dreams  are  ever  true  as 
the  waking  reality." 

In  such  a  vein  did  the  lady's  thoughts  run  on,  till  the 
shades  of  night  fell  upon  the  landscape  before  her;  and 
so  deep  and  absorbing  were  her  contemplations,  that  she 
might  have  remained  for  hours  in  the  same  position, 
regardless  of  the  darkness,  had  not  her  waiting-maid  dis 
turbed  her  reveries  by  suddenly  entering  the  apartment, 
and  announcing  a  message  from  Lieutenant  Joice. 

"What  is  that  the  girl  says  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Can  twell, 
passing  the  waiting-maid  at  the  room-door. 

"  Some  message,"  replied  Rebecca,  carelessly.  "  Noth 
ing  important,  I  suppose." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  her  mention  Mr.  Joice's  name,"  ob 
served  Mrs.  Cantwell.  "  I  trust,  Rebecca,"  she  added,  with 
a  calm  severity  in  her  tone,  "  you  will  be  cautious  how  you 
receive  any  private  message  from  that  gentleman.  It  is 
very  well  to  be  polite  and  even  condescending  to  the 
young  man,  since  he  happens  to  be  a  convert  to  our  holy 
religion ;  but  anything  more  —  no,  I  cannot,  I  will  not 
imagine  such  a  thing  —  " 

"  Really,  my  dear  sister,"  interrupted  the  maiden,  "  I 
must  not  permit  you  to  speak  in  this  fashion.  Surely,  as 
you  have  already  said  —  surely,  you  cannot  imagine  a  lady 
of  my  age  and  religious  dispositions  could  for  a  moment 
entertain  a  serious  thought  of  such  a  man!" 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Cantwell,  as  if  sud 
denly  awaking  to  the  awfulness  of  the  case.  "  Just  think, 
Rebecca  —  if  Baxter  suspected  such  an  intimacy !  " 

"  Ah,  do  now,"  entreated  Rebecca,  imploringly,  "do,  my 
dear  sister  —  do  cease  to  tease  me.  Oh !  you  make  me 
so  wretched,  to  think  you  could  suspect  me  of  such 
foolish  things." 

"  Suspect !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Cantwell :  "  and  is  that  so 


172  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

very  wonderful  ?  Why,  you  are  forever  speaking  of  him, 
Rebecca,  and  when  he  is  here,  you  seem  to  have  neither 
eyes  nor  ears  for  any  one  else :  perhaps  sleeping,  as  well 
as  waking,  you  are  thinking  of  him,  if  the  truth  were 
told." 

"  Oh,  shame  !  shame,  sister !  — -  cease  this  folly.  I  am  not 
at  all  in  a  jesting  mood." 

Mrs.  CantwelPs  lip  curled  slightly  at  the  lady's  evasive 
reply  to  what  she  intended  for  a  direct  charge ;  and  she 
was  about  to  speak  out  her  thoughts,  when  a  better  feeling 
came  to  soften  down  the  asperity  of  her  temper. 

"  Well,  Rebecca,  all  I  shall  say  now  is,  that  your  man 
ner  towards  Mr.  Joice  is  very  remarkable." 

"Perhaps  so,"  responded  the  maiden,  somewhat  quick 
ly  ;  for  she  thought  the  best  proof  of  her  innocence  was  to 
show  how  heartily  she  repudiated  the  insinuation.  "  Per 
haps  so ;  and  if  I  feel  a  lively  interest  in  the  young  gentle 
man  as  a  convert  to  Protestantism,  why  should  you  be 
so  unkind  —  so  uncharitable,  I  should  rather  have  said  — 
as  to  attribute  that  interest  to  other  motives  ?  I  assure 
you,  Mrs.  Cantwell,  I  shall  not  tolerate  such  unreasonable 
language."  And  saying  this,  the  maiden  quitted  the 
room  in  manifest  displeasure. 

Having  descended  the  stairs,  she  found  the  sergeant  of 
revenue-police  awaiting  her  presence  in  the  hall. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  taking  off  his  cap  and  bowing  obse 
quiously,  "  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  to  you  from 
Lieutenant  Joice." 

The  tall  lady  smiled  as  much  as  she  thought  necessary 
to  show  how  little  displeasure  she  felt  at  the  announce 
ment  ;  and  then  raising  her  handkerchief  to  cover  an 
incipient  shadow  of  a  blush,  said,  very  modestly, — 

"  Oh,  indeed  —  from  Mr.  Joice  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam ;  he  requests  me  to  say  he  intends  calling 
here  to-night  at  ten  o'clock,  precisely,  and  hopes  nothing 
will  be  in  the  way.  You  understand  me,  madam  ?  —  I 
cannot  be  more  particular." 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  173 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Rebecca,  quite  nervously,  for  she  saw 
in  an  instant  her  dream  was  about  to  be  realized  —  "  Oh, 
dear !  you  quite  frighten  me  —  what  a  strange  message  ! " 

"  He  will  come  very  privately  —  no  one  may  be  the 
wiser,  you  know.  He  hopes  all  difficulties  may  be  re 
moved —  you  understand,  madam  —  it's  unnecessary  to 
be  more  explicit." 

The  lady  nodded  and  smiled. 

"  He  can't  help  it,  madam  —  no,  indeed.  He's  a  victim 
to  his  feelins  —  he  is  indeed." 

"Poor  fellow!"  murmured  the  lady. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  madam,  if  you  knew  the  state  of  his  feelins, 
you'd  pity  him." 

"  I  do  pity  him,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  To-night,  madam,  remember,  at  ten  o'clock  —  let  all 
be  right  when  he  comes." 

Rebecca  permitted  her  head  to  fall  on  her  bosom,  and 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  murmured  out  between 
her  fingers,  — 

"  Oh,  dear !  it  will  become  so  public  —  what  will  the 
world  say  of  it  ?  " 

"Not  at  all,  madam — not  at  all,"  said  the  sergeant, 
soothingly.  "  It  will  be  all  hushed  up  —  don't  be  terrified, 
madam  —  it  has  happened  to  the  best  families  in  the  king 
dom  —  it  has,  indeed." 

"  Oh,  but  think  — think  how  the  world  will  speak  of  it  — 
it  will  be  all  in  the  newspnpers,  too.  Oh,  dear !  we  must 
leave  the  country  forever  —  tell  him  that  —  we  must  fly 
forever.  Oh,  dear !  how  the  thought  terrifies  me  ! "  and 
the  nervous  maiden  leaned  against  a  table  for  support. 

"  Upon  my  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam  —  but  faith,  I 
can't  see  why  you  take  on  so  for  such  a  trifle ;  sure  you 
know,  madam,  if  you  manage  right  —  and  you-  have 
plenty  of  time  to  put  all  to  rights  before  ten  o'clock  —  you 
may  defy  the  world  ;  and  then  —  " 

Here  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Cantwell,  approaching  the  head 


174  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OK 

of  the  stairway,  interrupted  the  conversation  at  a  most 
critical  moment. 

Rebecca  suddenly  placed  a  piece  of  gold  in  the  ser 
geant's  willing  palm,  whispered  him  to  be  cautious  and 
faithful,  motioned  him  to  leave,  and  then  hurried  back  to 
her  boudoir. 

How  Rebecca  was  employed  during  the  two  hours  that 
elapsed  between  the  receipt  of  the  message  and  the  time 
appointed  for  the  interview,  is  not  given  us  to  declare. 
Within  the  sanctuary  of  her  own  room,  her  thoughts  and 
actions  were  inviolable ;  even  if,  in  the  invisible  and 
ubiquitous  character  of  Fortunatus,  we  placed  our  imper 
tinent  eye  at  the  keyhole,  and  fancied  —  fancy  often  plays 
us  scurvy  tricks  —  we  saw  her  packing  up  different  arti 
cles  of  dress,  costly  ornaments,  "jewels  rare,"  and  rich 
embroidery,  in  a  portable  valise,  the  secret  should  forever 
be  confined  within  the  recess  of  our  own  bosom.  Yes, 
reader,  the  historian  should  have  something  besides  his 
veracity  to  boast  of.  He  should  have  a  delicacy,  as  sensi 
tive  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  —  never  chronicle  a  single 
event  that  had  not  taken  place  before  the  eyes  of  men. 
He  will  always  find  sufficient  material  in  the  public  acts 
of  men,  and  women  too,  without  skulking,  like  a  spy,  to 
peep  through  every  hole  and  crevice  in  a  lady's  boudoir  or 
a  gentleman's  cabinet.  For  our  own  part,  we  have  ever 
shown  our  utter  detestation  and  horror  of  such  outrages 
on  the  decencies  and  civilities  of  private  life.  If,  for  in 
stance,  we  had  the  coarse  indelicacy  to  assert  we  saw,  with 
our  own  eyes,  the  amiable  and  sylph-like  Rebecca  Cant- 
well,  after  locking  her  room-door,  throw  herself  on  a  sofa 
and  sigh,  —  that  we  saw  her  rise  again,  after  a  short  inter 
val  of  solemn  thought,  as  if  from  a  conflict  between  strong 
affection  for  the  man  she  loved,  and  the  foolish  fears  the 
scandal-mongers  of  a  base  world  had  created  within  her ; 
had  we  asserted  that  we  saw  her  unlock  her  wardrobe,  — 
take  out  a  bridal  dress,  — listen  for  an  instant  as  if,  like  the 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  175 

timid  fawn,  she  heard  footsteps  approaching,  —  examine  it 
carefully,  that  there  might  be  no  bar  to  its  immediate  use, 

—  sigh   as   she  thought  of  the  many,  many  weary  years 
that  passed  since  that  dress  first  saw  the  light  of  a  young 
existence,  —  then  smile  as  if  some  happier  ray  shot  across 
the  gloom,  and  lit  up  before  her  mental  vision  bright  and 
sunny  vistas  in  her  future  pathway  through  life ;  if  we 
dared  to  trample  the  delicate  secrets  of  the  sex  under  our 
leet,  and  declare  we  saw  her  placing  sparkling  gems  and 
bridal  wreaths  in  her  hair,  —  that  we  saw  her  twist  and 
turn  before  her  mirror,  like  an  Italian  opera-dancer  before  an 
enraptured  audience,  —  smile,  and  turn,  and  twist  again, 

—  and  then,  with  a  resignation  to  her  fate  so  beautiful,  so 
Christian-like,  because  so  painful  to  a  maiden  of  her  trifling 
experience  of  the  world's  ways,  begin  her  packing-up  — 
perhaps  for  a  far  foreign  land  —  perhaps  for  some  sunny 
spot  —  for  aught  she  cared,  poor  thing  —  in  the  Grecian 
archipelago,   or  among  the  half-discovered    islets  of  the 
Pacific ;  if  we  dared  thus,  we  again  repeat,  to  shake  off" 
our  native  delicacy  —  from  which  even  story-telling,  with 
all  its  reckless  indifference  to  private  feelings,  hath  not  yet 
weaned  us  —  and  exposed  to  the  cold  sneer  of  the  world 
the  secrets  of  Miss  Cantwell's  boudoir,  we  should  cover 
our  face  with  the  hand  that  wrote  the  libel  on  her  fair 
fame,  and  retire  forever  from  the  presence  of  the  sex  to 
whom  we  had  offered  so  unmerited  an  outrage. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  time  appointed  for  the  impor 
tant  interview,  Rebecca  descended  to  the  drawing-room, 
made  the  usual  domestic  arrangements  with  her  sister  for 
the  ensuing  day,  expressed  a  wish  to  retire  earlier  than 
usual,  because  of  a  certain  degree  of  fatigue  and  lassitude 
she  felt,  regretted  she  could  not  await  her  brother  and 
nephew's  return  to  join  in  the  evening  devotions  of  the 
family,  and  withdrew  for  the  night. 

When  the  maiden  again  entered  her  chamber,  her  eye 
sought  the  timepiece  on  the  mantel.  It  wanted  yet  five 


176  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

minutes  of  ten.  How  strange,  she  thought,  her  lover 
would  appoint  that  hour!  Why,  it  was  the  very  time  her 
reverend  brother  and  his  son  were  expected  to  return 
from  the  lodge.  But,  then,  lovers  are  never  prudent.  No 
—  prudence  is  too  cold  for  love.  Yet  if  she  happened  to 
be  surprised  in  the  act,  how  terrible  the  consequences ! 
Well,  but  there  is  danger  in  every  adventure  —  of  course 
that  was  naturally  to  be  anticipated  :  besides,  danger  gave 
a  more  lively  interest  to  the  thing.  And  moreover,  what 
of  danger?  —  was  not  her  heart  young,  and  daring,  and 
resolute  in  such  a  cause  —  the  cause  of  her  "  Kit "  and 
liberty  ?  Glorious  thought !  There  was  her  little  canary, 
poor  thing !  sleeping  on  its  perch,  with  its  little  head 
under  its  wing.  It  had  been  caged  up,  like  herself,  for 
years.  It  bore  its  imprisonment  too,  like  her,  with  resig 
nation  —  no,  not  resignation  —  with  patience,  because 
there  was  no  alternative.  Well,  if  the  dear  bird  found  the 
door  of  its  cage  opened  by  some  good  angel,  would  it  not 
fly  away  and-  be  free  ?  Nay,  more  —  if  it  only  thought  of 

it would  the  poor  creature  not  crush   its   little  body 

through  the  wires,  even  at  the  risk  of  its  life  ?  To  be 
sure  it  would  —  yes,  and  she  must  give  it  liberty  too  :  it 
had  a  perfect  right  to  range  over  this  free  earth  like  her 
self.  At  the  moment  her  own  long-looked-for  happiness 
was  about  to  be  realized,  she  ought  not  to  be  niggardly 
of  her  favors!  No!  two  hearts  should  beat  happily  on 
the  morrow  —  her  own  and  her  little  canary's;  and  ac 
tuated  by  this  benevolent  feeling,  she  opened  the  door  of 
the  cage,  and  the  window  of  the  room,  saying,  "  Now,  my 
pretty  darling  — now  you  are  asleep,  little  dreaming,  per 
haps,  of  the  joy  that  awaits  you!  When  the  day  breaks, 
your  confinement  ends  —  your  kind  mistress  will  then  be 
far  away  —  gone  forever  —  and  I  would  not  leave  you, 
my  pretty  pet,  to  be  tended  by  less  gentle  hands  —  no; 
fly  away  —  fly  to  the  green  woods  —  fly  like  your  mistress, 
and  be  happy  ! " 


TRICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  177 

The  house-clock  struck  ten.  Rebecca  thought  she  never 
heard  it  strike  so  loud  before  —  it  went  to  her  very  heart. 
The  ringing  noise  that  followed  the  last  blow  of  the  ham 
mer,  caused  a  corresponding  thrill  to  pass  through  her 
nerves,  vibrating  as  it  went.  She  put  a  small  duodecimo 
Bible  in  her  reticule,  saying,  "There  —  I  must  not  forget 
my  religion  —  no  ;  I  shall  carry  it  in  that  bag  —  it  will  be 
a  great  comfort  —  I  shall  read  it  for  my  dear  *  Kit '  as  we 
journey  along :  his  thoughts  and  feelings  require  to  be  a 
little  more  spiritualized."  Then  suspending  the  reticule 
from  her  delicate  arm,  she  took  up  the  valise,  approached 
the  door,  and  listened  attentively ;  but  no  sound  came  to 
disturb  the  silence.  Having  opened  the  door,  and  locked 
it  cautiously  on  the  outside,  she  felt  her  way  along  the 
dark  passages,  and  trod  as  lightly  as  if  her  limbs  had  been 
formed  of  the  pith  of  elder.  When  she  reached  the  great 
entrance-hall,  and  was  crossing  over  to  the  side  opposite 
the  stairway,  Mrs.  Cantwell  issued  suddenly  from  a  room, 
within  a  few  paces  of  her,  carrying  a  light  in  her  hand. 
Rebecca  stopped  horror-stricken,  as  if  some  dreadful  ap 
parition  had  arisen  before  her.  Her  heart  beat  violently, 
and  her  tender  frame  trembled  as  if  an  electric  shock  had 
passed  through  the  system ;  but  the  lady  of  the  mansion 
passed  on,  and  Rebecca  breathed  more  freely.  Again  she 
took  courage,  moved  resolutely  forward,  entered  the  room 
she  had  chosen  for  the  interview,  placed  the  valise  on  the 
floor,  closed  the  door  noiselessly,  and  sat  down  before  the 
window,  wrapped  in  her  night-cloak,  to  await  the  result. 

Hardly  had  she  been  seated,  when  her  waiting-maid, 
accompanied  by  Lieutenant  Joice,  stealthily  approached 
the  open  casement.  The  maid  hurried  away  directly 
she  had  performed  her  task,  and  left  the  happy  pair  to 
gether. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Miss  Cantwell,"  said  Joice,  pressing  the 
lady's  extended   hand   affectionately;  "can  you  —  say  — 
can  you  pardon  this  —  " 
12 


ITS  -N\    MWIRK,    OR 

•Oh !  dear,  dear ! **  ejaculated  Rebecca.  « I  fear  I  shall 
never  be  able  to — * 

•Don't  be  terrified,  Miss  Cantwell — be  composed — it's 
quite  a  common  thing.9 

*  Oh,  I  know  that*  my  dear  Kit ;  but  I  am  naturally  so 
Ijtn     >  —  $o  excitable,** 

*  There  is  no  cause,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Cantwell,  for  this 
excitement,** 

•Oh,  what  will  the  world  say?1*  sobbed  the  maiden. 

•The  world!  what  has  the  world  to  do  with  it?* 

•Oh,  think  of  the  newspapers,  and  the  scandal-mon- 
gvr>  '  • 

"Met*  lolly,  my  dear  Miss  Cant  well.  You  agitate  your 
self  quite  too  much  for  such  a  trifle.  Be  calm  —  do,  now 
— it  will  be  all  over  in  a  few  minutes,** 

•I  am  perfectly  resigned,"*  said  Rebecca,  with  a  beauti 
ful  Christian  calmness  in  her  tone. 

*  Trust  all  to  me,"  said  the  officer,  encouragingly, 

*  Perhaps  I  am  too  confiding  my  dear  Kit — I  feel  I 
have  not  done  right  in  meeting  you  here.    But  fate  should 
have  it  so — our  destiny  is  not  in  our  own  hands.9 

•Why,  my  dear  Miss  Cantwell,1*  observed  Joiee,  after  a 
pause ;  *  I  fear  I  cannot  well  understand  the  cause,  of  your 
apprehensions.  Have  you  had  everything  arranged,  as  the 
sergeant  intimated.9 

•Everything^"  murmured  Rebecca. 

•There  is  nothing  to  dread — is  there?** 

•What  a  question!**  thought  Rebecca.  ttX<y  she  re 
ified  ;  «  nothing,  I  believe,**  *" 

•Well,  and  why  do  you  appear  so  terrified  ?** 

•Don*t  know — woman's  heart  is  fearful  —  the  weak 
ness  of  our  sei,  perhaps.  It  is  such  a  dreadful  step  to  take, 
you  know.* 

•Dreadful  step!"  muttered  Joke,  to  whom  the  truth 
beginning  to  reveal  iteel£ 

•You  men  think  little  of  it,  perhaps — but  — is  all 


TRICKS  tfPCW  TRAVELLERS.  1  7^ 

ready?"  said  the  maiden,  changing  her  tone  somewhat 
abmptly,  for  *be  fete  seriously  disappointed  at  the  delay, 
and  the  Apathy  of  her  lorer  at  so  eritieal  a  moment* 
"Hare  7011  brought  any  one  to  assist? — I  mean,  to  —" 

"To  assist!9  repeated  Joiee;  "yes — the  men  are  in 
watting  beyond  there  among  the  trees.* 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  lady,  taking  up  the  valise,  and 
setting  it  on  die  window-sin,  "call  one  of  them,  and  hare 
him  take  this  to  the  carriage.  I  intrust  my  fife  and  my  honor 
to  yon,  'Kit.'  I  hare  nerer  concealed  my  lore  from  yoo 
—  never;  and  oh!  remember,  *  Kit' — remember  in  after 
years  the  sacrifices  I  hare  made  for  yon  this  night :  that  I 
am  leaving  all  that  i*  near  and  dear  to  me  in  this  world — 
home,  friends,  kindred,  and  country,  perhaps  —  to  be 
thine  — thine  forever.  But  what's  that?"— interrupted 
the  lady,  startled  by  a  noise  proceeding  from  the  front  of 
the  house— "knocking  at  the  hall-door?  Kit!  Kh!  that's 
my  brother's  knock.  Oh!  let  us  fly— fly  while  there  is 
yet  time." 

« Fly!"  said  Joiee,  now  in  utter  amazement.  «What— 
yon  must  hare  mistaken — " 

"Mistaken!"  repeated  the  lady,  scarcely  able  to  articu 
late  the  word.  "Mr.  Joice,  yon  sorely — yon  came  here 
to—" 

"To  make  a  seizure,"  added  Joice. 

Rebecca  started  back,  gave  one  wild,  agonizing  shriek 
of  despair,  as  she  felt  the  last  plank  so  suddenly  swept 
from  under  her  feet,  and  fefl  insensible  on  the  floor. 

Joice  paused  not  an  instant  to  reflect,  but  vaulted  into 
the  room  throng^  the  open  casement,  an 


ing  form  in  his  arms.  Hardly  had  he  laid  her  on  a  son, 
and  untied  the  dose  Mack  bonnet  that  almost  covered  her 
lace,  and  prevented  the  cool  air  from  reviving  her,  when 
the  door  was  violently  broken  open,  a  light  entered,  and 
ere  he  could  torn  round  to  ask  for  •ssiiliiiint,  he  received 
a  Wow  across  the  temple  that  feifc 


180  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

"Villain!"  roared  the  infuriate  clergyman  (for  it  was 
the  Rev.  Baxter  himself  just  returned  from  the  Orange 
Lodge).  "  Villain  ! "  he  vociferated,  flourishing  the  handle 
of  a  sweeping-brush  over  the  body  of  the  prostrate  officer: 
"  what  means  this  outrage  ?  " 

"  It's  all  a  mistake,"  cried  Joice,  raising  his  arm  to  pro 
tect  his  head  from  a  repetition  of  the  blow. 

"  Mistake  !  "  screamed  the  lady  of  the  house.  "  Wretch ! 
miscreant!  is  that  the  evidence  of  a  mistake?" — and  she 
pointed  to  the  valise  that  had  rolled  in  from  off  the  win 
dow-sill,  and  now  lay  on  the  floor  beside  her. 

"  Low,  mean,  unprincipled,  vile  wretch ! "  cried  the  min 
ister,  again  rushing  at  Joice,  who  had  now  scrambled  to  his 
feet,  while  the  blood  streamed  from  his  forehead.  "  Is  this 
the  reward  you  offer  us  for  all  our  kindness  ?  " 

"  Take  her  from  the  room !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Cantwell, 
addressing  the  servants,  who  had  now  assembled  round 
the  prostrate  maiden,  and  were  chafing  her  temples. 
"Take  her  away  —  she  desecrates  the  apartment.  But, 
stop  —  what's  this  dangling  at  her  arm?  —  a  bag  —  hah! 
and  a  Bible  in  it.  Good  heavens  !  what  a  hypocrite  she  is! 
She  would  carry  her  religion  with  her  —  take  her  away  — 
away  with  her ! " 

"  It's  only  a  mistake  —  I  swear  it,"  cried  Joice.  "  I 
wished  to  save  you  the  disgrace  of  a  public  exposure ;  but 
now,"  added  he,  stepping  back  against  the  wall,  and  hold 
ing  up  a  handkerchief  to  stanch  the  wound  with  one  hand, 
whilst  with  the  other  he  raised  a  small  silver  whistle  to 
his  lips,  and  blew  a  shrill  blast :  "  now,"  said  he,  smarting 
from  the  blow,  "  I  shall  treat  you  with  as  little  civility  as 
your  conduct  deserves." 

"  Merciful  powers !  what  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  exclaimed 
the  Rector,  as  the  policemen  tumbled  in  precipitously 
through  the  open  window.  "  Is  my  house  to  be  polluted 
by  this  fellow  and  his  men  ?  Villain  !  do  you  dare  me  to 
my  face  — do  you?  Are  you  resolved  to  carry  her  off  by 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  181 

brute  force  —  are  you  ?  "  And  his  voice  cracked  with  pas 
sion. 

"  I  come  to  carry  off  your  smuggled  liquor  —  not  your 
sister,"  said  the  officer;  "  and  only  that  I  respect  your  call 
ing  more  than  you  yourself  have  done  to-night,  I  should 
arrest  you  for  obstructing  me,  a  king's  officer,  in  the  dis 
charge  of  my  duty.  Sergeant,"  he  added,  "proceed  to 
the  cellar,  and  make  the  seizure." 

"  Hold  —  hold !  "  vociferated  Archibald,  who  had  just 
then  returned  from  Tubbernasiggart,  his  garments  drip 
ping,  his  bosom  torn  open,  and  his  locks  tossed  in  wild  con 
fusion.  "  Hold  ! "  he  cried  ;  "  countermand  the  order,  or  by 
all  the  powers  of  h — 11,  I'll  lay  you  dead  at  my  feet ! " 

"I  shall  do  my  duty,"  said  the  officer,  resolutely. 

"  Countermand  the  order ! "  again  shouted  the  agent, 
raising  a  loaded  blunderbuss  he  had  snatched  from  the  hall 
as  he  ran  in,  to  a  level  with  the  officer's  heart,  and  placing 
his  fore-finger  on  the  trigger ;  "  or  by  —  " 

The  blasphemy  was  interrupted  by  a  sharp,  quick  blow 
on  the  arm  from  a  policeman's  firelock.  The  arm  fell  par 
alyzed  ;  but  the  blunderbuss,  exploding  as  it  struck  the 
floor,  shattered  the  furniture  in  the  opposite  side  of  the 
apartment. 

"Men,  guard  the  room,"  said  the  officer;  "these  two 
gentlemen  are  your  prisoners  —  at  least,  till  I  return  from 
the  cellar." 

After  a  few  minutes'  absence,  he  again  entered  the  room 
with  half  a  dozen  of  his  men  carrying  two  kegs. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  the  officer,  "  you  are  at  liberty. 
Should  I  hereafter  think  it  necessary  to  prosecute  you  for 
obstruction,  you  can  be  easily  found.  I  have  received  a 
written  information  of  two  casks  or  kegs  of  un permitted 
liquor  having  been  deposited  in  your  cellar,  reverend  sir, 
by  one  James  Gallinach  of  Longh  Devnish,  and  accord 
ingly,  have  seized  these  two  casks,  believing  them  to  be 
the  same,  and  shall  detain  them  till  such  time  as  my  in- 


182  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

spector  may  call  upon  you,  sir,  in  open  court,  to  show  cause 
why  you  may  not  be  fined  in  the  penalty  of  one  hundred 
pounds  sterling  for  attempting  to  defraud  his  majesty's 
revenue.  I  came  here,  reverend  sir,  to  discharge  my  duty ; 
and  however  painful  it  may  have  been  to  me,  under  the 
circumstances,  yet  was  I  bound  to  execute  it  faithfully,  or 
lose  my  commission.  Miss  Cantwell  will  doubtless  explain 
to  you,  when  she  recovers  from  the  effects  of  this  very 
disagreeable  mistake,  how  friendly  were  my  intentions  in 
this  unlucky  affair.  As  to  the  violence  offered  myself  per 
sonally,  I  pardon  it ;  for  the  rest,  the  law  must  take  its 
course.  Take  up  the  liquor,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
his  men,  "  and  proceed  to  your  quarters." 

During  this  somewhat  prosy  speech,  which  Joice  thought 
necessary  to  deliver,  for  certain  weighty  reasons,  in  pres 
ence  of  his  men,  and  which  he  enunciated  in  the  style  of 
a  conqueror  addressing  the  inhabitants  of  a  conquered  city, 
the  reverend  Baxter  and  his  son  stood  facing  each  other 
in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  their  eyes  cast  down,  their 
arms  folded  on  their  breasts,  and  their  heads  bent  in  utter 
desolation  of  spirit.  Neither  seemed  to  move  the  smallest 
muscle  of  his  body,  till  they  found  themselves  completely 
alone ;  and  then  the  son,  raising  his  eyes  leisurely  and  fur 
tively  till  they  rested  on  his  father's  half-concealed  face, 
said,  in  a  coarse,  hollow  voice,  — 

"  Well,  sir,  this  is  a  devilish  pretty  pickle  the  Rector's 
family  has  got  into,  eh  —  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  It's  painful  to  flesh  and  blood,  my  son,"  replied  the 
minister ;  "  but  religion  will  teach  us  to  bear  it  with  pa 
tience  and  resignation." 

"  You  thought  my  aunt  was  an  angel,  because  she  read 
the  Bible,  dressed  in  black,  sang  psalms,  and  attended  the 
Sunday-school,  eh  —  didn't  you?" 

"  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  the  grass  withereth,"  observed 
the  Rector. 

"Very  good,  sir;  and  will  you  continue  to  commit 
smugglers  to  jail  after  this  night  ? " 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  183 

"  You  speak  bitterly,  Archibald,"  replied  the  Rector ; 
"you  require  the  aid  of  religion  to  sustain  you  in  these 
trials  of  the  spirit." 

"Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  the  agent,  in  a  tone  of  deep  derision? 
as  he  walked  towards  the  door.  "You're  at  the  old  tricks 
again  —  ha,  ha !  religion  —  hypocrisy  you  mean."  And  the 
last  word  was  barely  audible  as  the  young  gentleman  dis 
appeared. 


184  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  PIOUS  LANDLORD  DIRECTING  HIS  AGENT  HOW  HE  MAY 
BEST  ADVANCE  THE  SPIRITUAL  AND  TEMPORAL  INTER 
ESTS  OF  HIS  TENANTS. 

IN  an  arm-chair,  near  a  window  of  his  agent's  office  at 
the  Moor,  early  in  the  forenoon  of  the  Thursday  of  the 
week  following  the  October  fair,  sat  Colonel  Templeton. 
He  was  engaged  perusing  various  papers  which  his  agent 
handed  him  very  respectfully  from  time  to  time,  and 
seemed,  by  his  approving  nods  as  he  laid  them  down 
again  upon  the  table,  to  be  well  pleased  with  their  con 
tents. 

Colonel  Terapleton,  as  he  now  appears  before  the  reader, 
sitting  opposite  his  worthy  agent,  was  about  forty-five 
years  of  age,  of  the  middle  size,  a  little  inclined  to  corpu 
lency,  of  florid  complexion,  bald  forehead,  fair  hair,  gray 
eyes,  and  beardless  as  a  boy  of  fifteen.  Colonel  Tem 
pleton  was  a  high  Conservative  in  politics,  a  Transcen- 
dentalist  in  religion  (we  borrow  the  word  from  the  dic 
tionary  of  religions  for  the  year  1847),  an  Orangeman  by 
public  profession,  a  member  of  the  Carlton  Club,  a  whipper- 
in  of  the  Tories,  a  retailer  of  Irish  murders  and  riots  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  an  avowed  and  declared 
enemy  of  the  Catholics  of  Ireland. 

His  tenants  were  for  the  most  part  members  of  the 
Catholic  church,  and  his  habits  of  life,  while  he  remained 
during  the  parliamentary  recesses  at  his  splendid  country 
seat  of  Packenam  Hall,  led  him  to  visit  them  very  often. 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  185 

Indeed,  his  time  and  attention  were  almost  exclusively 
devoted  to  the  conversion  of  his  poor  misguided  people. 
He  provided  tracts  for  them  on  every  possible  subject  of 
religious  controversy,  and  distributed  them  himself  per 
sonally.  He  made  it  a  rule  to  let  no  day  pass  without 
giving  them  spiritual  instruction  in  some  shape  or  form. 
During  this  intercourse  with  his  tenantry,  he  often  met 
Father  Domnick  going  or  returning  from  a  sick-call  or  a 
station,  and  as  often  received  the  good  man's  "  Good-morn 
ing,  colonel  —  pleasant  weather  —  hope  you  find  your 
tenantry  comfortable  and  happy."  This  mode  of  address 
gave  the  colonel  considerable  annoyance ;  he  would  much 
rather  pass  the  priest  without  a  word  of  recognition  than 
hear  him  speak  with  such  nonchalance  —  such  manifest 
indifference. 

Father  Domnick  had  studied  long  and  well  the  charac 
ter  of  Colonel  Templeton :  he  observed  closely  all  his 
actions,  —  made  strict  inquiries  as  to  what  he  said  and  did 
during  his  daily  visits  amongst  his  people,  —  obtained 
information  the  earliest  and  surest  on  every  matter  of 
importance,  and  was  thus  enabled  to  thwart  him  in  every 
attempt  he  made  to  tamper  with  the  religious  convictions 
of  his  hearers. 

Colonel  Templeton  was  perfectly  sensible  of  the  supe 
rior  advantages  the  priest  enjoyed,  in  possessing  the 
unbounded  confidence  of  his  flock,  arid  of  the  eagerness 
with  which  every  little  incident  was  carried  to  his  ears ; 
yet  he  hoped  to  make  his  station  in  society,  his  wealth  as 
a  benefactor,  and  his  influence  as  a  landlord,  achieve  what 
his  teaching  could  not  effect.  With  an  income  of  24,000 
a  year,  what  could  he  not  accomplish  ?  So  thought  the 
pious  colonel ;  and  so  he  persevered  day  after  day,  with 
might  and  main,  to  break  down  the  ramparts  within  which 
old  Babylon  had  ensconced  herself;  but  all  in  vain.  Fa 
ther  Domnick,  never  asleep  at  his  post,  always  peeped  out 
from  the  watch-tower  above  just  at  the  most  critical  mo- 


186  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

ment,  and  scared  the  besieger  from  the  walls,  by  alarming 
the  unconscious  inhabitants. 

The  colonel  found,  after  all  the  kindness  he  had  shown 
his  Catholic  tenantry,  —  all  the  Bibles  and  tracts,  all  the 
ploughs  and  harrows,  meal  and  blankets  he  had  distributed 
amongst  the  starving  poor,  as  bribes  to  induce  them  to 
abandon  their  old  faith,  —  that  he  had  scarcely  advanced 
a  single  step  in  the  work  of  conversion.  The  everlasting 
reply  to  all  his  soul-saving  entreaties  was,  — 

"  Yes,  yer  honor,  sartinly  we'll  ax  his  reverence,  an'  if 
he  lets  us,  we'll  go  to  church  in  a  thousan'  welkims ;  shure 
we'll  do  our  best,  yer  honor." 

"  His  reverence ! "  he  would  often  reply,  when  his  pa 
tience  was  completely  worn  out.  "  Why  should  you  ask 
his  reverence,  when  a  higher  power  calls  you  ?  Will  you 
forever  suffer  yourselves  to  be  trampled  on  by  priests? 
Have  you  no  eyes,  nor  tongue,  nor  will,  nor  intellect  of 
your  own  to  use,  but  as  he  wills  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yer  honor,"  the  poor  terrified  creature  would 
exclaim ;  "  indeed,  it's  true  what  yer  honor  says,  for  sure 
I  often  tell  the  wife  there  the  same  thing,  when  she  scowlds 
me  about  not  goin'  to  my  duty.  *  Maybe,'  siz  I,  '  Betty, 
it's  long  afore  the  priest  'd  gie  me  a  plough  or  a  pair  i' 
blankets  for  goin'  to  the  chapel,  not  all  as  one  as  his  honor 
the  colonel  for  goin'  to  church.'  " 

"  Well,  sir,  and  why  do  you  not  come  to  church,  if  it 
were  only  to  show  your  gratitude  for  the  kindness  ?" 

"  Oh,  begorra,  yer  honor,  I'd  lake  to  ax  Father  Dom- 
nick's  leave  first." 

"Merciful  powers  above!  Father  Domnick's  leave  to 
save  your  soul !  " 

"  Sartinly,  yer  honor,  I  know  that,  av  coorse ;  but  then 
it's  not  lucky  to  fall  out  with  the  clargy,  ony  way  —  throth 
that's  past  denyin',  yer  honor :  shure  there's  Murtagh  Din- 
wartaugh  down  there,  a  son  av  ould  Shemashen  Dinwar- 
taugh-more,  and  —  " 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  187 

"  Stop,  stop  !  —  go  away,  away  —  I'll  hear  none  of  your 
superstitions.  Good  heavens !  what  a  miserable  and  de 
graded  people."  And  the  good  colonel,  baffled  and  vexed 
beyond  expression,  would  hasten  out  of  the  house,  beyond 
the  reach  of  Dinwartaugh's  melancholy  story. 

Whilst  the  stranger,  perhaps,  could  see  nothing  in  this 
willing  and  profound  submission  to  church  authority  but 
the  effects  of  a  slavish  dread  of  a  despotic  and  tyrannical 
system  of  ecclesiastical  government,  deriving  its  only  force 
from  the  ignorance  and  superstition  of  its  subjects,  the 
colonel  —  whose  long  intimacy  with  the  Irish  Catholics 
had  made  him  a  more  accurate  estimator  of  their  feelings, 
their  dispositions,  their  habits,  and  their  thoughts  —  saw 
an  unswerving  faith  founded  on  the  promises  of  God,  a 
warm  and  holy  attachment  to  their  pastors,  originating  in 
their  reverence  for  their  sacred  character,  increased  by  the 
remembrance  of  their  constancy  under  centuries  of  perse 
cution,  and  perpetuated  by  the  continual  administration 
of  a  multiplicity  of  sacraments,  all  hidden  under  the 
appearance  of  a  total  abandonment  to  the  will  of  their 
superiors.  He  never  hoped,  like  the  charlatans  of  the 
present  day,  to  succeed  in  his  scheme  of  proselytism  by 
merely  rousing  the  people  to  a  sense  of  the  degradation  in 
which  their  priests  had  kept  them — no;  such  a  course 
might,  he  believed,  be  perhaps  auxiliary,  but  his  great  de 
pendence  was  on  his  wealth,  and  his  power  to  bribe  the 
pliant  and  persecute  the  stubborn. 

Notwithstanding  these  darker  features  in  the  character 
of  Colonel  Templeton,  he  was  nevertheless  possessed  of 
not  a  few  redeeming  qualities.  On  the  bench  he  was  an 
honest  and  upright  magistrate,  never  permitting  his  feel 
ings  as  a  religious  bigot,  or  a  political  partisan,  to  influence 
his  decisions.  Nor  was  he  ever  known  to  eject  a  tenant 
from  his  farm  without  at  least  some 'legal  cause  —  trifling, 
perhaps,  it  might  often  be  —  but  still  a  legal  cause. 

And  now  to  our  story  again. 


188  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

"  And  this  ejectment,  No.  27,  is  this  to  be  proceeded 
with?"  inquired  the  colonel. 

"  As  you  may  be  pleased  to  direct,  sir,"  responded  Cant- 
well,  submissively. 

"The  arrears  are  of  long  standing  —  seven  years,  I 
believe  —  why  did  you  not  endeavor  to  recover  them 
before  ?  " 

"  I  really  cannot  say  —  I  think  —  in  fact,  I  believe  I 
quite  overlooked  the  affair." 

"  The  man  has  paid  his  rent,  I  perceive,  very  punctually 
up  to,  and  ever  since  that  time  —  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"Very  much  so,  indeed,  sir.  I  regret  exceedingly  he 
has  become  so  rebellious  of  late  as  not  to  merit  our  for 
bearance  :  otherwise  I  should  hesitate  to  proceed  against 
him  without  your  direct  commands." 

"  Rebellious  !  —  how  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  has  been  keeping  a  Ribbon  lodge  at  his 
house  for  the  last  two  years,  I'm  informed  by  very  respect 
able  authority." 

"Ribbon  lodge  —  strange — James  Connor  of  Tubberna- 
siggart  is  an  old  man,  is  he  not  ?  —  got  sons,  perhaps,  who 
manage  the  business  —  eh  ?  " 

"No,  sir,  I'm  not  aware  that  he  has.  There  is  a  man  in 
that  neighborhood,  however,  who  spends  his  time  chiefly 
at  Connor's,  and  is  a  captain  of  Ribbonmen  — perhaps  he 
is  chief-manager." 

"  Very  likely  —  can  you  tell  his  name  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  is  called  Andy,  or  Shandy  M'Guire." 

"  Shandy  M'Guire  !  "  repeated  the  colonel ;  "  I  have 
heard  that  name  very  often  before,  I  fancy.  Was  he  not 
in  the  habit  of  maltreating  the  Bible  Readers  of  this  dis 
trict  when  he  found  them  out  in  the  mountains  —  I  think 
—  eh  ?  " 

"The  same,"  replied  the  agent.  "You  may  remember 
he  was  accused  of  making  the  Bible  Reader  drunk,  and 
then  leaving  him  in  that  state,  at  this  hall-door,  during 
your  last  visit." 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  189 

"Yes,  yes;  I  distinctly  recollect  —  ha,  that's  a  danger 
ous  fellow.  He  should  be  seen  to,  Mr.  Cantwell.  Well 
—  but  as  1  was  just  going  to  remark  —  if  we  turn  out 
this  James  Connor,  there  may  be  some  difficulty  and  delay 
in  finding  a  successor :  there  are  already  a  number  of 
small  farms  on  the  estate  unoccupied,  and  few  Protestants 
willing  to  take  them  even  at  a  reduced  rent.  We  must 
be  cautious,  Mr.  Cantwell ;  land  is  too  valuable  to  be  left 
waste." 

"  These  farms  will  be  all  occupied,  I  assure  you,  colonel, 
in  the  course  of  the  ensuing  spring.  The  Catholics  who 
held  them  have,  to  be  sure,  been  threatening  a  few  Prot 
estant  applicants  with  house-burning,  if  they  attempted  to 
take  possession ;  but  that  feeling  of  revenge  is  rapidly 
subsiding.  No,  no,  colonel  —  there  is  no  fear  whatever  ; 
we  shall  easily  find  a  successor  for  Jemmy  Connor." 

"  A  Protestant,  of  course  ?  "  inquired  the  landlord. 

"  Oh,  certainly  —  of  course,"  replied  the  agent. 

"Have  there  been  any  applications  since  you  served  him 
with  the  process?"  again  inquired  the  colonel;  "if  not, 
you  should  be  less  urgent  in  bringing  the  action  before 
the  court." 

"  Why,  yes ;  there  was  an  application,  I  believe  —  I  think 
(Cantwell  turned  over  a  page  or  two  of  a  memorandum- 
book)  —  yes,  I'm  right ;  here  is  an  application  from  one 
Daniel  Doogan,  a  butcher,  from  near  Letterkenny,  and  a 
man  of  good  character,  I  understand." 

"  A  Protestant  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  and  a  convert.  He  can  be  well  recommended, 
he  says." 

"  Very  good  —  very  good,"  observed  the  colonel ;  "  well, 
you  will  manage  the  affair  as  prudently  as  possible.  Of 
course,  you  understand  these  matters  best ;  but  take  care, 
Mr.  Cantwell,  very  particular  care,  that  you  have,  in  all 
cases,  legal  cause  for  proceeding,  as  property-agent,  against 
these  unfortunate  people." 


190  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

"  Colonel  Templeton,"  replied  his  agent,  with  much 
apparent  sincerity,  "  I  trust  I  shall  always  endeavor,  to  the 
extent  of  my  poor  abilities,  to  study  your  interests  as  a 
landed  proprietor ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  I  shall  scrupu 
lously  guard  and  protect  your  reputation  as  a  munificent 
benefactor  of  the  deserving  poor  of  your  estate.  I  hope, 
colonel,  I  shall  ever  feel  as  sensibly  alive  as  I  now  do,  to 
the  awful  responsibility  you  had  confidence  enough  to 
place  in  me." 

"  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Cantwell,  it  is  indeed,  no  doubt,  a  great 
responsibility  —  very  great  responsibility.  Of  course,  I 
had  confidence  in  you  —  very  great  confidence.  I  knew 
your  father  well.,  I  knew  he  instilled  into  your  young 
mind  the  precepts  of  our  holy  religion,  —  taught  you  the 
great  morality  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  faith  that  should 
create  and  preserve  it  in  your  heart  through  life.  Yes, 
sir — why  should  I  not  have  confidence  in  you?  —  why 
not?" 

The  agent  bowed  low,  and  then  was  preparing  to  ex 
press  his  gratitude  still  more,  when  a  servant  entered,  and 
handed  him  a  slip  of  paper  with  pencil-marks  on  it. 

"Let  him  wait,"  said  Cantwell,  after  looking  for  an  in 
stant  at  the  paper,  and  then  at  the  colonel,  as  if  he 
doubted  what  to  say.  "  Let  him  wait  —  I'm  engaged  at 
present." 

"  No,  no  —  see  him  directly,  Mr.  Cantwell ;  it  may  be 
some  matter  of  importance.  Business  should  never  be 
put  off.  I  shall  await  your  return." 

In  the  entrance-hall  stood  the  sergeant  of  revenue-police. 

"  Come  in  here  to  this  room,  sergeant,"  said  Cantwell ; 
"it's  more  private.  And  now  what's  your  business? 
Quick  as  possible  —  the  colonel's  waiting  in  the  office." 

"  Lieutenant  Joice  sent  me  up  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  little 
affair  is  hushed  up  —  all  settled." 

"  Which  affair  —  the  seizure  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  it's  all  over." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  191 

"  Possible  !  —  Ha  !  how  was  it  effected  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  being  brethren  of  the  same  lodge, 
Mr.  Joice  thought  it  his  duty  to  forget  the  hard  usage  he 
received  on  the  night  of  the  seizure." 

"  Well,  well  —  I  expected  as  much  ;  but  what  of  the  fine 
and  the  trial  ?  " 

"All  right,  sir.  He  wrote  to  a  ganger  of  excise  in  Deny 
—  a  friend  of  his,  and  induced  him  to  sign  a  permit  in 
your  father's  favor  for  two  casks  of  malt  spirits.  Here  it 
is,  sir  —  you  see  it's  antedated  :  so  all's  right  again.  The 
Rector  can  send  the  permit  to  the  inspector,  and  say  he 
did  so  rather  than  satisfy  Mr.  Joice  by  giving  it  to  him. 
So  all's  over,  and  no  trial.  As  for  Miss  Cantwell,  the  men 
don't  know,  and  of  course  never  shall  from  us,  the  part  she 
had  in  the  transaction." 

"  Excellent !  "  exclaimed  the  agent,  while  his  long,  thin, 
sallow  face  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"  Isn't  it,  though  ?  "  half  whispered  the  smiling  police 
man. 

"  By  the  royal  blood  of  King  William !  it's  well  and 
handsomely  done,  sergeant.  Ever  since  that  unlucky  night, 
I  felt  excessively  uneasy.  If  the  case  had  gone  to  trial,  we 
might  leave  the  country.  My  father,  the  Rector  of  the 
parish,  and  the  magistrate  so  notorious  for  his  hostility  to 
smuggling,  —  he  to  be  arraigned  himself  for  the  same  of 
fence,  and  before  an  open  court  too !  —  why,  he  never 
would  survive  it." 

"It's  sometimes  a  fortunate  thing  to  have  a  brother 
Orangeman  between  one  and  danger,"  observed  the  po 
liceman,  with  a  significant  leer. 

"  I  believe  you,  sergeant."  And  the  agent  laughed  and 
chuckled  in  his  turn  also. 

"Certainly,  sir;  aren't  we  sworn  to  defend  one  another? 
Of  course  we're  sworn  also  to  protect  the  revenue ;  but 
then,  you  know,  we  can't  always  keep  both." 

"Decidedly  not,"  replied  the  agent.     "  The  government 


192  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,   OR 

does  not  expect  it.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  it  is  the  wish 
of  the  government  that  smuggling  be  carried  on." 
"  Faith,  I  sometimes  think  so,  from  the  way  it  acts." 
"  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  Don't  you  see  the  smuggler  is  ever 
and  always  able  to  undersell  the  large  distiller  by  one  and 
often  two  shillings  per  gallon.  Well,  if  the  government 
reduced  the  duty  from  three  shillings,  as  it  is  now,  to  one, 
the  smuggler  would  be  left  completely  idle.  I  tell  you, 
brother,  it  never  was  the  real  object  of  the  government 
entirely  to  suppress  illicit  distillation  —  never.  The  pre 
ventive  force  was  organized  for  two  very  different  pur 
poses.  The  first  was  to  give  employment  in  the  service  to 
young  men  whose  friends  had  peculiar  claims  on  the  gov 
ernment  ;  the  second  was,  that  it  might  be  a  force  ready 
at  hand,  and  prepared  at  any  moment  to  assist  the  mil 
itary,  in  the  event  of  outbreak  or  sedition  amongst  the 
people." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  policeman  ;  "  and  why  not  ?  " 
"And  then  again,"  continued  Cantwell,  "it  has  been 
proved  before  a  government  commission,  by  six  most  re 
spectable  gentlemen  of  Cork  and  Derry,  that  treble  the 
quantity  of  liquor  has  been  distilled  during  the  course  of 
the  last  three  years,  in  these  two  cities,  than  the  malt  on 
which  duty  was  paid  could  possibly  yield.  And  why? 
Because  the  lawful  distiller  can  purchase  the  liquor,  already 
manufactured,  from  the  smuggler  two  shillings  less  than  he 
himself  can  afford  to  sell  it  for,  and  thus  defraud  the  rev 
enue  in  the  very  teeth  of  the  surveyor  of  excise.  Well, 
now,"  added  Cantwell,  "  I  mention  these  facts  merely  to 
convince  you  that  government  does  not  look  upon  the 
buying  of  unpermitted  liquors  as  a  fraud,  particularly  by 
gentlemen  like  my  father,  for  instance,  who  purchase  it  for 
their  own  private  use.  Besides,  it  is  only  a  penal  law,  that 
is,  escape  if  you  can  —  if  not,  pay  the  fine;  but  remember, 
there  is  no  moral  guilt  attached  to  the  act  —  no,  no ;  I 
would  be  sorry,  sergeant,  you  could  suspect  my  father  for 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  193 

one  moment  of  a  morally  bad  act.     I  know  you  would 
not  —  no,  of  course  not." 

"And  isn't  it  surprising,  sir,  that,  holding  these  opinions, 
your  father  could  think  of  punishing  the  smuggler  with  so 
much  severity  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  they  sell  it  —  make  a  trade  of  it  — 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  that  so  clear,"  replied  the  policeman, 
"  but  I  suppose  you're  right,  sir ;  at  all  events,  there's  noth 
ing  like  keeping  the  people's  nose  to  the  grindstone." 

"  Nothing,  sergeant ;  these  damned  Irish  must  be  beg 
gared  before  they  are  tamed.  Yes ;  that,  after  all,  is  the 
great  secret.  Beggary  and  starvation  is  the  best  recipe 
for  taming  a  stubborn  people.  But  I  must  go  now  —  the 
colonel  expects  me.  Good  by,  sergeant.  Give  my  com 
pliments  to  Mr.  Joice  —  say  I'm  exceedingly  obliged.  But 
stay  a  moment  —  tell  me,  do  you  know  the  informer  ?  " 

The  policeman  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh,  I  can  keep  a  secret,  you  know ;  besides,  there  should 
be  none  between  brother  Orangemen."  And  Cantwell, 
as  he  spoke,  laid  his  hand  familiarly  on  his  companion's 
shoulder. 

"  Better  you  wouldn't  know,"  observed  the  policeman. 

"  Nonsense,  sergeant  —  do  you  doubt  me  ?  " 

"  Not  by  any  means ;  but  I'm  sworn  not  to  reveal  the 
secrets  of  the  service." 

"Pah  !  we  should  have  no  secrets  but  our  own  of  the 
lodge.  Come,  now  —  I'm  anxious  to  know  —  you'll  oblige 
me." 

"  Well,  I'll  trust  you.     Daniel  Doogan's  the  informer." 

"  Doogan  the  butcher ! "  exclaimed  Cantwell,  in  evident 
astonishment. 

"  The  same." 

"  You  may  be  mistaken." 

"  Impossible." 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

13 


194  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OR 

"  The  officer  in  charge  of  the  Straunlar-party  obtained 
the  information  from  Doogan  ;  but  as  the  smuggled  goods 
were  deposited  within  Mr.  Joice's  district,  he  wrote  the 
information  as  dictated  by  Doogan,  and  gave  it  him  to 
hand  Mr.  Joice.  Doogan,  in  passing  the  barrack  on  the 
fair-day,  slipped  it  privately  into  the  hands  of  the  guard." 

"  There  must  be  a  mistake  —  I  cannot  believe  Doogan 
to  be  such  a  villain." 

"  Why,  sir,  I  tell  you  I  myself  read  the  letter,  in  which 
Doogan's  name  —  Daniel  Doogan,  the  butcher  —  was  given 
as  the  informer." 

Cantwell's  brow  gradually  darkened,  as  he  reflected  how 
deeply  he  had  admitted  the  informer  to  his  confidence,  and 
that  but  a  few  minutes  ago  he  had  recommended  him  ns 
the  successor  of  James  Connor  of  Tubbernasiggart.  He 
bent  his  head,  and  bit  the  nail  of  his  little  finger  violently. 

"No  matter,"  said  he  ;  "very  well  —  I'll  see  to  it. —  no 
matter  now." 

"  Take  care,'  sir,"  said  the  policeman,  observing  the  in 
ward  struggle  the  agent  maintained  with  his  passion ; 
"take  care  you  don't  reveal  the  secret.  If  you  do,  I 
may  be  dismissed  the  service." 

"Oh,  yes,  —  I'll  take  care,"  muttered  Cantwell,  while  his 
face  became  livid  with  suppressed  rage.  "  I'll  be  very  cau 
tious.  Good  by,  sergeant  —  I  must  wait  on  the  colonel." 

"  Where  is  this  Captain  O'Brien  now  —  removed  yet  ?  " 
inquired  Colonel  Templeton,  as  his  agent  took  his  place 
before  him,  apparently  as  calm  and  tranquil  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  to  disturb  his  equanimity. 

"No,  sir;  he  is  here  still,  but  superseded  in  the  com 
mission  of  the  peace,  thanks  to  your  influence  with  the 
Chancellor." 

"  The  Viceroy,  you  mean  —  I  don't  know  the  Chancel 
lor.  By  the  by,  ever  since  the  Test  and  Corporation  Acts 
were  amended,  the  conservative  interest  is  sinking  every 
day.  Formerly,  you  had  only  to  say  to  a  friend  in  the 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  195 

ministry,  if  you  only  met  him  in  the  streets,  'There  is  a 
troublesome  Irish  fellow  in  the  peace,  I  wish  you  could 
have  him  dismissed,'  and  the  thing  was  done ;  but  now  you 
must  obtain  an  interview,  and  give  your  reasons.  The 
death  of  the  Duke  of  York  was  a  terrible  blow  to  the  high 
conservatives,  —  I  fear  we  never  will  recover  from  it,  — 
and  now  the  Hero  Duke,  himself,  after  all  our  expecta 
tions,  beaten,  I  may  say,  in  his  very  first  effort.  Why,  Mr. 
Cantwell,  the  times  are  greatly  changed." 

"  And  what  if  Canning  had  been  able  to  maintain  office 
for  another  year  ?  —  why,  colonel,  the  country  might  now 
be  on  the  verge  of  insurrection." 

"Decidedly  —  witness  the  result  of  his  policy  in  the  tone 
these  Catholic  associations  are  assuming.  It's  positively 
frightful." 

"And  then  this  French  and  American  republicanism, 
creeping  in  day  by  day  through  the  press,  is  quite  unset 
tling  the  people's  ideas  of  allegiance  and  submission  to  the 
laws." 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it.  This  free  exercise  of  their  religion, 
which  Congress  has  guaranteed  to  the  Irish  in  America, 
has  not  only  weakened  the  power  of  the  Protestant  church 
establishment  in  England,  but  will  eventually  lead  to  the 
formation  of  such  a  liberal  course  of  policy  towards  Ire 
land  as  may  yet  end  in  revolt  against  the  power  and  influ 
ence  of  the  aristocracy  of  the  land." 

"  I  fear  it  very  much,"  replied  the  agent.  "  Only  last 
month  one  of  your  tenants  told  me  he  should  sell  out,  and 
leave  a  country  where  his  children  were  being  brutalized- 
for  want  of  education,  and  beggars  for  want  of  food,  and 
emigrate  to  America  where  both  are  abundant,  —  where 
there  is  no  bloated  aristocracy  to  feed  on  the  hearts-blood 
of  the  poor,  nor  despots  to  make  laws  for  enslaving  an 
ignorant  people." 

"  Ha,  ha !  Mr.  Cantwell,  he  had  the  boldness  to  say  so, 
eh  ?  What  would  this  nation  be,  if  it  were  capable  of 


196  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OR 

drawing  a  parallel  between  its  own  social  condition  and 
that  of  the  United  States?  What  if  we  educated  the 
masses,  and  then  recognized  their  right  to  be  consulted  in 
legislative  affairs  as  they  do  in  America  ?  Why,  sir,  we 
should  have  none  but  democrats  and  revolutionists.  Our 
property  would  be  torn  from  our  hands,  and  ourselves  sent 
beggars  on  the  world.  No,  no,  sir ;  if  we  educate  the 
Irish  we  can  never  rule  them." 

"  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion,  colonel." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  for  a  moment  by 
a  servant  entering  with  a  request  from  Mrs.  Dowser,  that 
Colonel  Templeton  would  please  do  her  the  favor  of  see 
ing  her  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  next  room  at  his  earliest 
convenience. 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  colonel,  after  the  messenger  had 
retired,  "  you  have  said  that  O'Brien  is  still  here." 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  still  here ;  but  my  father  had  a  letter 

yesterday  from  Dr.  B n,  who,  you  know,  is  all-in-all  at 

the  Castle,  and  he  says  O'Brien  is  to  be  removed  imme 
diately,  and  sent  on  foreign  service  —  East  Indies,  I  think. 
It  is  fortunate,  too,  that  some  three  or  four  officers  of  the 
same  regiment  stationed  in  Clare  have  lately  given  the 
government  considerable  annoyance  about  Mr.  Vasey  Fitz- 
geral's  affairs ;  so  the  thing  can  be  done  quietly,  without 
creating  any  useless  or  vexatious  inquiries." 

The  colonel  nodded  assent,  and  then  added,  — 

"Irish  officers  never  should  be  sent  here  —  should  be 
sent  to  England,  or  on  foreign  service.  The  country  would 
be  much  easier  managed  by  English  and  Scotch  officers, 
than  these  hot-blooded  patriots,  half-bred  Protestants,  as 
they  are.  Where  is  the  advantage  of  having  a  detachment 
of  soldiers  here  for  preserving  the  peace,  if  they  are  to  be 
commanded  by  such  men  as  this  O'Brien  —  a  man  who 
dares  stop  the  reading  of  a  riot-act,  when  but  a  moment 
before  an  officer  of  constabulary  is  felled  from  his  horse  ?" 

"  Since  he  came  here,  things  are  daily  growing  worse 


TEICKS   UPON  TEAVELLEES.  197 

and  worse,"  observed  Cantwell,  with  an 'affectation  of  sor 
row  that  he  was  obliged  to  confess  it. 

"  Humph  !   I  suppose  so,"  muttered  the  colonel. 

"You  have  heard  of  the  narrow  escape  I  had  last  week? 
—  of  course  you  did." 

"No,  not  a  word.  Ha!  waylaying  —  attempt  to  mur 
der—eh?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  was  set  upon  by  five  or  six  ruffians,  who 
attempted  to  drown  me." 

"  Merciful  heavens ! "  ejaculated  the  pious  man,  looking 
up  in  astonishment  as  he  spoke.  "  Drown  you  ! " 

"  Yes,  sir  —  drown  me.  A  fellow  named  Hudy  M'Getti- 
gan  laid  the  plot.  He  induced  me,  by  a  promise  of  im 
parting  certain  interesting  secrets,  to  meet  him  three  or 
four  miles  from  the  village.  The  moment  I  reached  there 
I  was  flung  into  the  river,  and  remember  nothing  more, 
than  when  my  senses  were  leaving  me,  I  got  hold  of  a 
line  or  rope,  and  clung  to  it.  When  I  awoke  to  conscious 
ness  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  I  found  myself  in  the  centre 
of  a  circle  of  dying  embers  as  if  a  dance  of  devils  had  been 
about  my  corpse." 

"  Heaven  protect  us  ! "  said  the  colonel,  devoutly ;  "  these 
are  perilous  times  —  oh,  dear !  " 

"Very  much  so,  indeed,"  responded  the  agent;  "and 
yet,"  he  added,  "  when  you  assured  the  House  of  Commons 
a  few  weeks  ago,  that  to  travel  through  the  remote  parts 
of  this  district  without  a  posse  comitatus  of  police,  was 
putting  your  life  in  danger,  you  would  hardly  be  credited." 

Colonel  Templeton  made  no  reply  to  the  latter  observa 
tion  ;  he  felt  that  ground  was  too  delicate  to  tread  over 
again.  So  affecting  to  be  entirely  preoccupied  with  the 
case  immediately  before  him,  he  inquired  if  Mr.  Cantwell 
had  yet  discovered  the  villains  engaged  in  the  plot.* 

*  It  may  be  well  here  to  remark,  that  Colonel  Templeton,  in  a 
speech  delivered  in  the  House  of  Commons  at  this  period,  made  a  very 
remarkable  declaration,  to  wit,  "  that  even  in  the  north  of  Ireland, 


198  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OB 

"  None  out  this  Hudy  M'Gettigan,  and  he  —  the  wretch 
—  is  prepared,  he  says,  to  prove  an  alibi.  Ha,  ha!" 
laughed  Cantwell;  "he  swears  he  never  spoke  a  word  to 
me  on  the  subject  in  his  life.  But  the  priest  will  forgive 
him  whatever  he  swears  —  that's  one  comfort  at  least." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  colonel ;  "  and  the  more  readily 
as  the  prosecutor  happens  to  be  a  heretic  —  ha,  ha!" 
And  both  gentlemen  laughed  socially  together. 

"But  how  did  you  ascertain  the  fellow's  name?"  in 
quired  the  colonel. 

"  He  told  me  himself." 

"  How  —  when  —  at  your  first  meeting  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  that  circumstance,  I  must  confess,  staggered 
me  at  first  a  good  deal.  It  struck  me  he  might  have 
assumed  a  name  for  the  occasion ;  but  when  the  fellow  was 

particularly  in  the  county  Donegal,  no  Protestant  gentleman  could 
safely  travel  through  the  remote  districts  without  an  escort  of  police  ; 
so  that  the  noble  lord  who  had  preceded  him  would  find  himself 
grievously  mistaken,  if  he  thought  that  agrarian  outrages  were  con 
fined  to  one  or  two  counties  of  the  south."  Shortly  after  this  sur 
prising  declaration  had  been  bruited  about  through  the  newspapers, 
the  colonel  returned  to  visit  his  estate.  Having  directed  his  agent 
some  time  before  to  cut  a  road  through  a  certain  mountainous  part 
of  his  property,  and  hearing  it  was  now  open  to  the  public,  he  set  out 
after  dinner  accompanied  by  a  single  servant,  in  an  open  conveyance, 
to  examine  it  himself.  Owing  to  the  roughness  of  the  new  road,  his 
travelling  was  necessarily  slow,  so  that  before  he  had  reached  the 
extremity  of  the  line,  the  sun  had  set,  and  night  was  falling  fast.  He 
therefore  determined  to  proceed  to  Killybegs,  a  small  town  but  a  few 
miles  distant,  and  remain  at  the  hotel  for  the  night,  rather  than  re 
turn  at  so  late  an  hour  by  so  coarse  and  unpleasant  a  road ;  but  just 
as  he  had  reached  a  most  dreary  and  desolate  spot  in  the  mountains, 
lie  found,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  that  he  had  only  reached  a  broken 
bridge  —  swept  away  by  the  rains  of  the  preceding  week.  The  good 
colonel  was,  no  doubt,  for  some  time  exceedingly  puzzled  how  to 
extricate  himself  from  this  untoward  position.  Seeing  a  country 
man,  however,  crossing  the  river  below  the  bridge  on  horseback,  he 
resolved,  as  a  last  resource,  to  ask  a  passage  behind  him,  and  send 
the  servant  with  the  carriage  round  by  the  next  bridge,  about  six 


THICKS   UPON   TKAVELLERS.  199 

brought  before  me,  all  my  doubts  were  dispelled  in  an 
instant.  He  was  the  same  man  who  met  me  on  the  fair- 
evening  :  the  same  thread-bare  coat  —  same  sightless  orb 
—  same  impediment  of  utterance.  Oh,  yes,  I  could  identi 
fy  him  in  the  South  Sea  Islands  ! " 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  he  must  be  an  idiot  to  tell  you  his 
real  name,  coming,  as  he  did,  on  such  an  errand." 

"  The  only  manner  of  accounting  for  this  apparent  want 
of  caution  seems  to  be  that  he  looked  upon  me  as  a  dead 
man,  and  therefore  had  little  dread  of  detection.  Besides, 
he  was  so  remarkable  a  man,  that  he  might  have  suspected 
I  knew  him  when  he  made  the  appointment,  and  therefore 
gave  his  real  name  to  throw  me  off  my  guard." 

"  Very  likely  —  very  likely.  But  you  said  you  had  him 
committed  for  the  conspiracy  ?  " 

miles  back  on  the  road  he  had  just  travelled.  The  colonel  mounted 
accordingly  behind  the  countryman,  and  had  reached  halfway  across 
the  stream,  holding  on  for  life  and  death,  his  arms  wound  round  the 
man's  body,  while  his  heels  were  jerked  up  on  the  horse's  flanks  to 
keep  them  dry,  when  two  gentlemen  came  dashing  down  at  full  trot 
to  the  broken  bridge.  One  was  Alexander  Murray,  Esq.,  of  Kelly 
castle,  commonly  called  Broughton  Murray,  then  spending  a  few 
days  on  his  Donegal  estate,  and  the  other  his  law-agent,  Mr.  Edward 
Murray  of  Letterkenny.  "  Hilloa,  my  man,"  shouted  the  first-named 
gentleman,  "who  is  that  behind  you?"  "It's  Colonel  Tempi — " 
"  Silence,  you  villain,"  muttered  the  colonel.  "  I  don't  know,"  said 
the  man.  "  We  shall  soon  know,"  cried  the  other,  riding  up  as  the 
colonel  slid  down  from  the  horse,  on  the  river's  bank.  "  What," 
cried  he,  "Colonel  Templeton !  "  "What,"  repeated  his  com 
panion,  "Colonel  Templeton!  why,  colonel,  is  it  possible  you  — 
here  at  this  hour  and  place  !  what !  without  a  posse  comitatus '!  —  I 
suspected  it  was  your  servant  I  saw  on  the  opposite  bank ;  why,  my 
dear  colonel,  I'm  surprised  you  expose  yourself  in  this  way  —  it's 
monstrous  !  "  We  shall  not  protract  the  scene ;  suffice  it  that  Colo 
nel  Templeton  made  the  interview  as  short  as  possible,  and  the  two 
other  gentlemen  enjoyed  his  chagrin  exceedingly.  When  Colonel 
Templeton  again  returned  to  London,  he  found  himself  sitting  on 
the  back  of  an  old  horse,  behind  a  tattered  Irishman,  in  the  window 
of  every  print-shop  in  the  metropolis.  —  Ed. 


200  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OK, 

"  No,  not  exactly  for  that ;  for  I  could  hardly  prove  it, 
not  having  seen  him  at  the  place  appointed.  But  we  had 
him  committed  for  having  Ribbon-papers  and  bullet-moulds 
concealed  in  his  house.  It  will  answer  the  same  purpose." 

"  Pah !  Mr.  Cantwell,"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  in  a  half 
angry  tone ;  "  it  will  not  answer  the  same  purpose.  If  you 
convict  him  of  waylaying  and  attempt  to  murder  a  land- 
agent,  don't  you  see  what  a  case  I  could  make  of  it  in  the 
House,  when  the  social  state  of  Ireland  comes  up  in  de 
bate, —  and  it  certainly  will  next  session,  —  as  a  set-off  to 
emancipation  petitions  ?  " 

"  Very  true,  sir ;  I  didn't  think  of  that.  And  would  you 
wish  me  to  indict  him  for  both  offences?  I  fear  —  I  really 
think  we  cannot  succeed  in  both,  but  if  you  wish  —  " 

"  Oh,  remember,"  interrupted  the  colonel  hastily,  raising 
his  fore-finger  to  make  his  words  the  more  emphatic,  "  re 
member,  Mr.  Cantwell,  I  do  not  wish  you,  by  any  means, 
to  proceed  against  him  or  any  one  else  (no,  religion  forbids 
us  to  be  revengeful  even  when  we  punish),  except  on  legal 
grounds  and  respectable  evidence.  No,  no ;  all  I  say,  is,  if 
possible,  I  should  prefer  having  him  indicted  for  both ;  that 
is,  remember,  if  possible  and  right? 

The  colonel  rose  to  take  his  leave.  "  As  for  this  Captain 
O'Brien,"  he  added,  "  we  shall  see  to  his  removal  imme 
diately." 

"  By-the-by,  colonel,  people  talk  of  his  marrying  a  certain 
young  lady  in  town  here." 

"  Ha  !  Miss  Johnston,  perhaps  ?  " 

"No,  no,  quite  another  person.  Miss  O'Donnel,  the 
painter's  daughter  :  you  saw  her,  I  think  —  she's  staying  at 
General  Johnston's." 

"  You  surprise  me  —  she's  a  Catholic,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  And  a  very  rigid  one.  She  boasts  of  her  faith  most 
provokingly;  and  says  it's  absolutely  presumptuous  in  us 
to  practise  Protestantism  at  all  in  this  land ;  that  she 
wonders  the  skeletons  of  its  martyred  dead  don't  rise  up 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  201 

from  their  graves  and  scourge  us  back  to  England  again ! 
ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"But  will  her  faith  be  no  obstacle  in  the  captain's  way?" 

"  No ;  he's  prepared  to  make  himself  quite  agreeable." 

"  What !  get  married  by  the  priest  ?  " 

«  So  I'm  informed." 

"  Very  exacting,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Why,  colonel,  if  I'm  not  much  mistaken,  she  would  not 
marry  George  of  England  otherwise  than  according  to 
the  rites  of  the  Catholic  Church.  She  absolutely  laughs 
at  Protestantism,  as  a  country  bumpkin  laughs  at  a  clown 
in  a  comedy.  She  is  the  most  provoking  woman  I  ever 
met." 

"  Humph !  well,  we  cannot  tolerate  such  a  marriage, 
Mr.  Cantwell,  certainly  not.  Marriage  of  Protestant  and 
Catholic  by  a  priest  is  a  serious  misdemeanor,  punishable 
by  fine  of  £500,  or  imprisonment  in  the  common  jail  for 
a  period  of  five  years.  It's  a  most  salutary  enactment,  and 
in  these  times  very  requisite  for  the  maintenance  of  Protes 
tant  ascendency.  If  the  priest  violate  the  law,  he  should 
suffer  the  penalty  —  and  he  shall,  Mr.  Cantwell.  Ye.s,  sir, 
it  is  our  duty  —  our  conscientious  duty,  as  loyal  subjects, 
to  enforce  the  enactment." 

"  Certainly,  colonel,  it  must  be  seen  to." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Cantwell,  good  morning.  I  must  see 
this  Mrs.  Dowser,  and  then  make  my  usual  visit  to  my 
tenants  before  dinner.  Good  morning,  sir." 

Cantwell  had  hardly  taken  his  seat  again  before  the 
desk,  when  Coulson,  the  bailiff,  entered,  and  throwing  him 
self  on  a  chair  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  services  give 
him  a  right  to  be  familiar  with  his  employer,  said,  in  a 
husky,  angry  tone,  — 

"Curse  that  rascal,  M'Gettigan,  he  denies  everything  — 
you're  completely  at  his  mercy." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  the  agent,  with  a  look  of  disap 
pointment,  "will  he  not  return  Connor's  receipt?" 


202  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,    OR 

"  He  swears  he  never  got  a  receipt  from  you." 

"  Did  he  never  meet  me  at  the  old  castle  ?  " 

"  No,  never." 

"  Never  gave  me  a  letter  from  Mary  Connor  ?  " 

"  Never.  He  says  it's  all  a  mistake  —  that  he  wasn't 
the  man  at  all — that  he  was  in  Glasgow  at  the  time." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  the  jailer  had  instructions  to  let  him 
escape,  if  he  returned  the  receipt  ?  Did  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  every  other  thing  I  could  think  of,  as  an  in 
ducement,  but  to  no  purpose.  He  only  laughed  at  me,  and 
said  it  was  all  a  mistake." 

"And  what's  to  be  done?"  demanded  Cantwell,  rising 
from  the  desk,  and  pacing  the  office  in  great  perplexity. 
"  What's  to  be  done  now  ?  Connor's  case  must  go  on  ; 
the  colonel  is  already  in  possession  of  the  whole  affair;  I 
told  him  of  Connor's  keeping  a  Ribbon  lodge  in  his  house. 
We  can't  drop  it  —  it  must  go  on.  If  that  receipt  appear 
on  the  trial,  the  mystery  of  the  fair-night  will  be  exposed, 
and  I  dismissed.  What's  to  be  done,  Coulson  ?  " 

"  Can't  say,"  replied  the  bailiff. 

"  Are  you  positive  Jemmy  Connor  never  got  the  receipt 
from  M'Gettigan  ?  " 

"  As  positive  as  that  I  see  that  sky  above  us." 

"  Then  M'Gettigan  has  it  still.  Well,  if  the  fear  of  trans 
portation  for  these  papers  and  bullet-moulds  don't  oblige 
him  to  return  the  receipt,  I  know  of  no  other  means  to 
adopt.  I  have  acted  very  imprudently  in  submitting  Con 
nor's  ejectment  process  to  the  colonel  before  your  return 
from  the  jail ;  but  now  the  time  for  caution  is  past  —  we 
must  proceed.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  receipt  is  lost.  I 
wish  to  heaven  it  may  be  so.  Leave  me  now,  Coulson  ;  I 
wish  to  be  alone." 

When  the  bailiff  closed  the  door  behind  him,  Cantwell 
folded  his  arms,  and  continued  to  pace  the  office  as  before. 

"  Perdition ! "  he  muttered,  clenching  his  teeth  and 
stamping  on  the  floor,  "to  think  I  could  be  overreached 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  203 

in  this  way !  Heaven  and  earth  !  to  think  how  that  girl 
has  fooled  me !  nay,  treated  me  like  the  dog  she  called  me 
—  ha!  and  yet  she  may  escape  through  my  fingers.  But 

no,  by (and  he  swore  a  fearful  oath),  no  —  even  should 

her  father  still  hold  possession  —  should  I  even  lose  the 
colonel's  agency,  I  shall  repay  her  for  her  favors  of  the  fair- 
night.  Yes,  that  very  Sassenach  dog  will  leave  the  marks 
of  his  teeth  upon  her  yet.  I  shall  yet  blast  her  reputation 
as  effectually  as  I  did  that  of  Mary  Curran  ; "  and  a  ghastly 
smile  came  over  his  countenance  as  he  anticipated  the  suc 
cess  of  his  hellish  design. 

As  we  intend,  at  the  close  of  this  chapter,  to  bid  adieu 
to  Mr.  Archibald  Cantwell  for  a  few  days,  we  shall  now 
relate  a  little  incident  that  occurred,  by  way  of  episode  to 
the  preceding  very  important  official  secrets,  and  then  leave 
him  to  manage,  as  best  he  may,  his  own  private  affairs. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Archibald  Cantwell  thought  it 
necessary  to  consult  with  his  bailiff  again  that  night  —  or 
rather  late  in  the  evening,  for  it  was  not  yet  completely 
dark —  on  some  of  his  official  duties;  and  for  that  purpose 
had  taken  a  near  cut  to  the  bailiff's  house  by  the  back  en 
trance  to  the  demesne.  He  had  opened  a  wicket,  and  was 
turning  round  to  close  it  again,  when  some  one  started 
from  out  the  shadow  of  the  gate  pillar,  and,  with  the  elas 
ticity  of  a  tiger,  sprung  upon  him,  fastening  his  fingers  in 
his  cravat,  and  dragging  him  with  irresistible  force  down 
into  the  deep  ditch. 

"  Ha,  ha !  I  swore  it  —  I  swore  it  by  the  five  crosses," 
cried  his  assailant.  "  I  swore  I'd  kill  ye.  Ha,  ha !  deil's 
cure  to  ye  —  deil's  cure  to  ye." 

"  Villain !  villain  !  let  me  go,"  muttered  Cantwell,  half 
strangled  under  the  grasp  of  his  enemy. 

"  Ha !  I  swore  it  at  Mary  Curran's  grave.  You  mur- 
dhered  Mary  Curran,  and  made  the  tears  fall  from  the  ould 
man's  eyes.  Ha !  you  made  an  ould  priest  cry.  Ha,  ha ! 
I  swore  I'd  kill  ye." 


204  SHANDY    M'GUIRE,     OR 

Cantwell  struggled  in  vain  to  throw  off  his  antagonist. 
Every  instant  his  strength  was  failing,  his  voice  becoming 
weaker  and  weaker,  and  in  all  likelihood  never  would  have 
used  it  again,  had  not  a  horseman  riding  past  been  attracted 
by  the  high  breathing  and  half-suffocated  sounds  proceed 
ing  from  the  deep  ditch. 

"  Hilloa  !  "  said  the  rider,  suddenly  reining  in  his  horse ; 
"  what  noise  is  that  ?  " 

The  assailant  raised  his  head  to  listen,  keeping  his  fingers 
still  twisted  in  Cantwell's  cravat. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  repeated  the  horseman, 
approaching  nearer,  and  preparing  to  alight. 

The  assailant  sprung  instantly  upon  the  road,  muttering 
to  himself,  "  Oh,  by  the  powers,  it's  Father  Domnick  —  it's 
Father  Domnick ! "  —  and  clearing  the  wall  on  the  opposite 
side  at  a  single  bound,  became  invisible  among  the  bushes. 

We  need  not  inform  the  reader  that  Cantwell's  assailant 
was  "  Dick  the  Omedaun,"  and  his  rescuer  Father  Dom 
nick,  just  then  returning  from  a  station. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  205 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

BEING    THE    SHORTEST    CHAPTER   IN    THE    BOOK. 

COLONEL  TEMPLETON  found  Mrs.  Dowser  in  the  recep 
tion-room  alone,  anxiously  awaiting  his  coming,  and  bathed 
in  tears. 

"I  am  really  very  sorry,  Mrs.  Dowser,"  said  the  colonel, 
feelingly — "very  sorry  to  find  you  in  tears.  Well,  but 
religion  should  teach  you  to  bear  these  little  crosses  and 
troubles  of  life  with  more  patience  and  resignation ; "  and 
he  quoted  a  passage  from  the  Holy  Scripture. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  replied  the  lady,  "  I  fear  I  shall  never  see  him 
again." 

"Don't  be  so  dejected,  Mrs.  Dowser;  you  certainly  shall 
see  him  again." 

"  But  he  may  be  starved  by  this  time,  sir."  And  the  lady 
sobbed  bitterly. 

"  Starved  !  "  ejaculated  the  colonel. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  fear  it  very  much.  Just  have  the  goodness 
to  read  that  letter."  And  the  lady  placed  the  document  in 
his  hand. 

The  colonel  sat  down,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

"DEAR  KATE,  MY  BELOVED  WIFE, — 

"  I'm  a  dead  man,  or  as  near  it  as  possible.  You  might 
say  that  if  you  saw  me  ;  but  you  won't,  till  I'm  a  corpse, 
nor  then  either,  perhaps.  Not  that  I'm  to  say  heart-sick  ; 
no,  but  wasting  away  by  the  pure  dint  of  starvation.  Not 
a  morsel  of  food-kind  ever  entered  my  lips  since  I  came 


206  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

here,  but  lumpers  (potatoes)  and  poteen  —  not  a  morsel ! 
Not  even  a  drop  of  milk,  but  a  kind  of  buttermilk  that 
you  used  to  give  the  pigs,  and  that  only  once  a  day,  as  a 
sort  of  dainty.  I  asked  them  for  a  grain  of  sugar  to  punch 
my  liquor ;  but  not  a  taste  would  they  give.  Yesterday, 
after  much  begging  and  praying,  they  sent  four  or  five 
miles  after  a  looking-glass,  that  I  might  see  myself  in  it ; 
and  in  troth,  Kate,  I'm  not  to  say  better  yet  of  the  shock 
I  got  by  that  same.  Ten  days  ago  I  was  some  odds  of 
eighteen  stone  weight,  and  now  you  might  blow  a  spittle 
through  me.  I'm  certain  I'm  not  as  heavy  as  Tommy 
Reed,  the  dancing-master.  And  that  reminds  me  of  an 
other  misery  I  endure  —  I  mean  in  regard  of  the  same 
dancing.  Every  night  since  I  came,  there's  what  they  call 
the  '  Roscess  batther,'  a  sort  of  dance,  or  rather  a  welting 
of  the  floor  as  hard  and  quick  as  a  tuck-mill  could  pound 
it.  Well,  I  must  join  them,  too,  av  coorse.  I  know  well 
it's  kill  me  they're  strivin'  to  do,  but  I  daren't  refuse ;  if  I 
did,  maybe  it's  to  the  crows  they'd  give  me.  When  I  beg 
of  them  for  God's  sake  to  let  me  rest  awhile,  it's  laugh  at 
me  they  do,  make  me  drink  another  egg-shell  of  whiskey 
(for  there's  no  other  measure  to  be  had),  and  then  drag 
me  up  and  to  it  again.  I  had  to  curse  King  William  and 
all  his  generation,  drink  the  Pope's  health,  and  Repale  of 
the  Union,  about  a  thousand  times  this  week,  and  you 
know,  Kate,  I  must  be  in  a  poor  way  when  I'd  do  that ; 
but  I  daren't  refuse.  There's  a  fellow  here  they  call 
*  Shandy '  something ;  and  if  there's  a  devil  on  earth,  he's 
one.  Remember,  if  I  die  before  I  see  you  again,  I  leave 
my  death  on  him. 

"Now,  Kate  dear,  if  you  have  any  of  the  old  regard 
remaining  for  the  poor  skeleton  that's  writing  this,  go  to 
the  Rector,  or  the  colonel  if  he's  come  yet,  and  tell  them 
the  deplorable  state  I'm  in  ;  tell  them  a  loyal  brother  is 
dyin'  by  inches,  or  rather,  wastin'  away  at  the  rate  of  a 
hundred  a  week,  and  can't,  according  to  any  reasonable 


TRICKS  UPON  TKAVELLERS.  207 

calculation,  last  longer  than  eight  or  ten  days  more ;  tell 
them  I  have  nothing  under  the  canopy  of  heaven  to  live 
on  but  lumpers  and  poteen,  and  they'll  surely  let  that 
scoundrel  Devlin  go.  As  long  as  he's  in  jail,  I'll  be  the 
sufferer.  Kate,  dear,  I  used  to  be  cross  sometimes,  when 
you'd  happen  to  vex  me;  but  I'm  a  changed  man  now. 
You'll  never  have  reason  to  complain  of  me  again.  Have 
mercy  on  me  now,  in  my  wretched  condition,  and  do  all 
you  can  to  get  me  out  of  this.  They  promise  to  let  me  go 
as  soon  as  Devlin  is  liberated.  Make  haste  —  make  haste, 
dear  Kate,  or  my  bones  will  be  through  my  skin  before 
any  help  can  reach  me. 

"  Your  starved  but  loving  husband, 

«W.  DOWSER." 

"  P.  S.  As  I  don't  know  where  I  am,  being  carried  here 
blindfolded,  so  I  don't  know  where  to  date  my  letter  from, 
or  what  day  of  the  week  it  is,  since  they  niver  let  me  be 
sober  an  hour  together  since  I  came.  I  got  leave  to  write 
this,  as  you  see,  on  the  back  of  a  letter  I  had  in  my  pocket; 
but  they  won't  let  me  seal  it  till  they  read  it,  and  that  same 
can't  be  done  till  'Shandy'  comes  in  the  evening.  Don't 
forget  me,  Kate.  Farewell." 

"  Rather  unpleasant,  I  must  confess,  Mrs.  Dowser,"  said 
the  colonel,  refolding  the  letter.  "  Have  you  any  suspicion 
of  where  he  may  be  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least,  colonel,"  replied  Mrs.  Dowser ;  "  if  I 
had,  I  would  travel,  if  it  were  a  hundred  miles,  night  and 
day  on  my  bare  feet,  to  see  him  once  more." 

"  He  was  carried  off  on  horseback  —  was  he  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  and  King  William  was  found  at  his  own 
stable-door  next  morning,  covered  with  foam,  and  almost 
worried  to  death.  He  must  have  been  taken  to  a  great 
distance,  for  the  poor  brute  was  very  tired." 

"  Humph  !  very  likely.  It  was  a  bold  thing  of  these 
Ribbonrnen  to  break  up  the  lodge  as  they  did,  and  then 


208  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

carry  off  Mr.  Dowser  —  on  his  own  horse  too  —  as  a  hos 
tage  for  the  safety  of  this  Devlin." 

"  Oh,  sir,  if  you  would  only  liberate  Devlin,  my  husband 
would  return,  and  all  would  be  right  again,"  said  Mrs. 
Dowser,  imploringly. 

"  But  do  you  not  see,  madam,  what  a  victory  these  Rib- 
bonmen  would  obtain  if  Devlin  were  liberated  ?  and 
besides,  it  would  encourage  the  rebels  in  the  commission 
of  crime.  It's  an  awkward  case,  Mrs.  Dowser." 

"  Oh,  sir,  but  remember  he's  a  loyal  brother  —  a  faithful 
member  of  our  holy  church,"  rejoined  the  lady,  raising 
her  hands  in  earnest  supplication. 

"Of  his  loyalty,  my  dear  madam,  you  can  judge  best 
from  this  letter.  His  malediction  of  the  'great  and  good 
King  William,'  is  but  a  poor  passport  to  our  sympathy." 

"Oh,  but  think  of  the  danger,  sir;  his  life  was  in  their 
hands  —  only  for  that  —  " 

"  He  should  have  sacrificed  it  in  the  sacred  cause," 
replied  the  colonel,  with  the  solemn  emphasis  of  a  Cove 
nanter.  "  However,"  he  added,  rising  from  the  chair, "  the 
police  of  the  district  are  now  in  search  of  Mr.  Dowser ; 
should  they  not  succeed  in  finding  him,  call  upon  me  on 
Monday  next.  We  may  then  make  some  arrangements 
for  effecting  his  liberation."  The  colonel  quitted  the 
room  ;  and  Mrs.  Dowser,  after  wiping  away  the  traces  of 
her  tears,  returned  home  in  somewhat  better  spirits,  and 
yet  not  a  little  surprised  to  find  Colonel  Templeton  so 
apathetic  in  the  cause  of  the  martyred  lion  of  Lodge  516. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  209 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE    CROSS    AND    BEADS.       KATHLEEN   KENNEDY. 

COLONEL  TEMPLETON,  after  his  short  interview  with 
Mrs.  Dowser,  stepped  into  his  gig,  and  rode  out  as  usual, 
to  pay  a  morning  visit  to  his  tenants,  and  commune  with 
them  on  the  saving  truths  of  the  Gospel. 

In  the  box  of  the  vehicle  were  deposited  sundry  copies 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  bearing  the  words  "  Kil- 
dare-street  Society  "  stamped  on  their  covers ;  and  by  their 
side  a  number  of  controversial  tracts,  under  different  titles, 
viz.,  "  Antichrist  Exposed,"  " Romanism  Defeated,"  "The 
Man  of  Sin  cloven  down  by  Five  Blows  of  the  Holy  Bible," 
"Popish  Idolatry,"  "Daisies  of  Piety,"  "Primroses  of  De 
votion,"  "  Dahlias  of  Faith,"  &c.,  &c.,  all  written  in  a  sim 
ple,  easy  style,  to  suit  the  humblest  capacities. 

The  good  man,  as  he  rode  along,  felt  very  happy.  He 
was  laboring  on  a  great  mission  — journeying,  like  another 
Barnabas  (the  difference  being  only  perceptible  in  his 
estate  and  mode  of  travelling),  to  convert  the  Gentiles  to 
the  faith.  It  was  a  happy,  blissful  reflection ;  and  then, 
if  his  thoughts  turned  back  for  a  moment  to  the  busy  me 
tropolis  he  had  so  lately  quitted,  why,  it  was  only  to  con 
gratulate  himself  the  more,  in  having  exchanged  the 
haunts  of  vice  and  infamy  —  the  vortex  of  aristocratic 
corruption  —  for  the  quiet,  retired  little  vineyard  of  souls 
intrusted  to  his  care.  "  The  Bible,"  he  whispered  to  him 
self,  complacently,  "  might  be  regarded  as  the  seed,  and 
the  pamphlets  the  little  watering-pots  of  religion."  And 
he  drove  on  the  faster  for  the  thought. 
14 


210  .SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

In  the  fields,  on  either  side  of  the  road  as  he  passed 
along,  he  saw  his  tenants  busily  employed  at  the  harvest 
—  some  reaping,  others  housing  or  stacking  their  grain. 
Children  of  tender  age  were  to  be  seen  here  and  there, 
gleaning  the  few  ears  of  corn  that  lay  on  the  field  after 
the  reapers;  and  others  still  younger,  seated  in  groups 
round  small  peat  fires,  roasting  in  the  hot  ashes  their  little 
feasts  of  new  potatoes.  These  hardy  children  had  no 
foolish  trumpery  of  dress,  like  their  proud  little  brethren 
of  England,  to  cover  the  extremities  of  their  persons  — 
no ;  they  had  been  taught  from  their  cradles,  like  the  free 
Indians  of  North  America,  to  look  upon  freedom  from 
such  embarrassments  as  a  privilege  of  their  race.  How- 
very  pleasant  it  was  for  Colonel  Templeton  to  reflect,  that 
all  these  children  he  saw  in  groups  around  him,  might,  in 
a  certain  sense,  be  considered  his  own  property !  Certain 
ly.  Was  not  the  soil  his  own  —  and  did  he  not  propagate 
them  on  it  ?  Did  he  not  force  them,  as  we  might  say,  on 
that  nutritious  esculent,  the  potato  ?  Could  not  the  po 
tato  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  manure  for  the  growth  of 
human  flesh  f 

And  then  he  had  another  cause  for  self-gratulation  ;  for 
what  was  his  object  in  raising  them  ?  —  not  the  lust  of 
riches,  —  not  the  sordid  motives  that  influence  the  Hack 
slave-owner,  —  no,  it  was  the  glory  of  God  and  of  Eng 
land.  They  were  destined  to  glorify  their  Creator,  under 
his  guidance,  by  walking  in  the  pure  light  of  a  reformed 
gospel,  and  a  retrenched  and  purified  faith,  and  to  glorify 
England  by  contributing  a  portion  of  their  labor  to  the 
support  of  the  most  magnificent  oligarchical  government 
in  the  world,  and  a  portion  of  their  blood  to  fight  the 
battles  of  an  empire,  the  proudest  and  most  powerful  the 
sun  ever  shone  upon.  Surely  such  reflections  were  enough 
to  make  any  man's  heart  glad ;  so  the  colonel  raised  his 
head  higher,  and  trotted  on  at  an  accelerated  pace. 

When  about  three  miles  from  the  village  of  Donegal, 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  211 

he  came  in  view  of  a  small  hut,  or  hovel,  built  on  the  road 
side,  on  a  barren  moor,  and  of  very  wretched  appearance. 
This  hut  was  scarcely  ten  feet  square,  very  low  —  so  low 
that  a  boy  of  sixteen  could  not  enter  without  stooping, — 
built  of  round  rough  rocks,  and  covered  with  green  sods. 
An  aperture  cut  in  the  roof  served  for  a  chimney ;  the 
door  was  made  of  willow  twigs,  platted  close  together  in 
the  style  of  a  wicker  basket,  having  its  interstices  filled 
with  mud  to  keep  out  the  cold,  and  the  window  was  a 
round  opening,  from  which  a  stone  was  taken  in  the  side 
wall,  and  through  which  the  bottom  ©f  an  old  hat  was 
visible.  It  was  the  habitation  of  Kathleen  Kennedy,  one 
of  Mr.  Ebenezer  Goodsoul's  converts.  Whether  that  gen 
tleman  was  correct  in  placing  her  as  he  did  to  his  account 
with  the  Kildare-street  Society,  is  yet  to  be  seen,  but  cer 
tain  it  is,  she  was  poor  enough  to  be  converted.  The 
colonel  alighted,  fastened  the  reins  of  the  bridle  to  a 
stunted  tree  on  the  road-side,  and  approached  the  house. 

Against  the  gable  of  the  hut,  four  or  five  children  (the 
eldest  of  whom  could  not  be  more  than  seven  years)  were 
busily  engaged  building  a  little  stack  of  half-saved  turf, 
that  lay  scattered  about  the  premises.  The  two  eldest 
had  apparently  taken  charge  of  the  strncture,  for  while 
they  prepared  and  laid  on  the  material,  the  younger  ones 
were  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  capacity  of  servers  or  at 
tendants.  It  was  no  matter  of  surprise  to  Colonel  Tem- 
pleton,  to  observe  how  cheerfully  they  performed  their 
work,  notwithstanding  the  inconvenience  they  must  have 
felt  from  the  long,  pointed  tatters  of  their  dress,  that  now, 
saturated  with  the  bog-water  through  which  they  passed 
occasionally,  flapped  heavily  against  their  legs  and  sides. 
No,  it  was  the  proof  of  a  hardy  race,  and  of  a  patient, 
enduring  people.  It  was  refreshing  to  think  how  inured 
to  privations  these  children  would  be  in  after  years,  when 
their  country  called  them  away  to  fight  its  battles  amid 
the  snows  of  the  Cariadas,  or  under  the  broiling  sun  of  the 


212  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,    OR 

Indies.  With  what  pride  could  England  point  to  the 
future  heroism  and  fortitude  of  these  children,  and  with 
what  pride  would  their  own  hearts  be  hereafter  filled, 
when,  returning  perhaps  from  Canada,  or  Aifghanistan, 
they  received  a  smile  from  their  sovereign,  and  three 
pence  half-penny  a  day  from  their  country,  as  an  acknowl 
edgment  of  their  services !  Happy  children  of  the  white 
slaves  of  the  north!  —  fortunate  starvelings  of  a  beggared 
race  !  —  innocent  progeny  of  brutalized,  dust-kissing, 
scorned,  and  branded  helots  !  —  ye  little  knew  what  a 
glorious  influence  you  might  yet  exercise  over  the  des 
tinies  of  the  British  empire ! 

Within  the  threshold  of  the  hut,  and  on  the  floor,  sat 
an  infant  mumbling  a  potato.  Opposite  the  child,  and  but 
a  few  yards  beyond  the  hovel,  its  mother  was  busy  wash 
ing  in  a  stream  that  ran  murmuring  and  rippling  by  the 
wayside.  The  child  had  now  eaten  as  much  of  the  po 
tato  as  satisfied  his  present  cravings  of  hunger,  and  began 
to  throw  it  on  the  ground  and  catch  it  up  again  in  the 
wantonness  of  a  playful  .spirit,  laughing  merrily  at  the 
sport.  Beside  the  door  lay  a  little  lean  dog,  watching  the 
child  intently,  and  licking  his  lips,  as  the  precious  mor 
sel  rolled  over  close  to  where  he  squatted.  At  length, 
the  child's  excitement  increasing,  it  threw  the  potato  on 
the  ground  with  more  violence  than  usual,  causing  it  to 
roll  over  within  the  dog's  paws.  The  little  starved  animal, 
no  longer  able  to  withstand  the  temptation,  caught  up  the 
potato,  and  ran  away  round  the  house  with  its  long  tail  be 
tween  its  legs,  evincing  by  its  cowardly  and  precipitate 
flight  the  consciousness  of  having  done  a  very  dishonest, 
as  well  as  disreputable  act.  The  child,  robbed  of  its  play 
thing  so  suddenly,  screamed,  and  cried  bitterly  to  its  moth 
er,  as  if  in  appeal  against  the  daring  injustice.  The  poor 
woman  ran  over  immediately  to  pacify  the  infant,  and 
taking  it  up  in  her  arms,  said,  as  she  rocked  it  to  and 
fro, — 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  213 

"Hush,  alanna !  hush,  asthore  machreel —  shure  I'll 
get  another  for  ye,  dear;  hush  now,  an'  I'll  bate  that  nasty 
Piper." 

"  Well,  honest  woman,"  began  Colonel  Templeton,  who 
had  followed  her  to  the-  door  unobserved,  and  whose  voice 
so  near  and  sudden  seemed  to  startle  her  not  a  little  — 
"  how  long  has  this  been  standing  here  ?  " 

Kathleen  courtesied  humbly  and  respectfully,  as  turning 
round,  her  eye  rested  on  the  richly-dressed  gentleman  be 
fore  her ;  but  she  remained  silent,  being  somewhat  con 
fused  at  the  question. 

"  When  was  this  cabin  built  ?  "  he  again  demanded. 

"  It's  up  about  three  weeks  after  last  Candlemas,  sir. 
(Hush,  hush,  asthore ! "  she  added,  in  an  undertone  — 
"  here,  Bridget  —  hush  alanna  boght — here,  take  the  wean 
till  I  spake  to  the  gentleman.)  Indeed,  then,  sir,  it  was  the 
good  neighbors,  God  reward  them,  gathered  up  here  and 
pit  it  thegither  for  us,  awhile  afther  Candlemas  last." 

"  And  where  did  you  live  before  that  time  ?  " 

"  Down  there  in  Minadreen,  sir,  av  ye  iver  wur  in  it." 

"  And  who  was  your  landlord  ?  " 

"  One  Colonel  Templeton,  iv  ye  iver  heerd  tell  av  him ; 
but  I'll  warrant  did  ye,  barrin'  ye're  a  stranger  in  these 
parts." 

The  colonel  nodded. 

"  An'  indeed,  sir,  a  snug  dacent  bit  av  Ian'. we  had,  till 
misfortin'  overtuck  us ;  but  shure  it's  thankful  we'd  ought 
to  be  whativer  comes  :  maybe  it's  our  desarvin',  maybe  it's 
all  for  the  best." 

"  And  where  is  your  husband  —  is  he  living  ?  " 

"  He's  livin'  yet,  'm  tould,  Goodness  be  praised  for  his 
marcies  ;  but  'am  afeerd  it  'ill  not  be  long."  Her  voice 
trembled  slightly  as  she  spoke. 

"  Is  he  sick  ?  " 

"  Sick  enough,  sir;  they  say  the  docthor's  giv  him  up." 

"  Ha  !  then  he's  not  at  home  ?  " 


214  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

"  Noa,  noafareer,  sir,  he's  Dot.  Poor  fella  !  he's  far  away 
from  us  with  the  cowld  strangers,  that  cares  little  about 
him,  maybe." 

"Where?" 

"  In  jail,  sir,"  replied  Kathleen,  Raising  to  her  eyes  a  cor 
ner  of  the  tattered  handkerchief  that  covered  her  shoulders. 
"  Go  into  the  house,  Bridget  —  go  in,  dear,  an'  bring  the 
childher  along  with  ye.  Go  in,  an'  don't  be  gapin'  at  the 
gentleman,  without  a  totther  to  cover  ye." 

"  And  why  is  he  in  jail,  my  good  woman,  eh?  Ribbon- 
ism,  I  suspect." 

"  Noa,  indeed  then,  sir,  he  niver  meddled  or  made  with 
it,  since  the  priest  spoke  agin  it  —  not  say  in'  but  many's 
the  time,  sir,  he  was  provoked  hard  enough  to  join  them." 

«  Ha!  —  well?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I'll  tell  ye  then,  as  ye  axed  me  —  it  wus  for 
rint  an'  tithe  he  was  pit  in.  It  wus  June  last  wus  a  two- 
years,  he  went  with  a  great  gatherin'  iv  the  tenants,  to  give 
the  Recthor  a  rfw£y-day's  cuttin'  i'  turf;  for  ye  know,  sir, 
the  Recthor  i'  the  parish  is  the  Agent's  father,  Mr.  Cantwell, 
an'  iv  coorse,  the  Recthor  has  only  to  call  on  the  colonel's 
tenants  when  he  wants  them.  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  sayin', 
Ned  Kennedy  wusn't  jist  at  himself  that  day,  bein'  only 
risin'  out  iv  a  plorisy  the  week  afore;  but  feen  a  bit  ex 
cuse  the  bailie,  Mr.  Coulson,  'd  take.  So  aff  he  had  to  go 
with  the  rest  i'  the  neighbors ;  an'  as  the  day  was  tarrible 
warm  intirely,  Ned,  atween  the  work  an'  the  wakeness,  got 
very  druthy,  an'  tuck  a  drink  i'  the  bog-wather ;  for  not  a 
hap'orth  else  he  had  convanient,  barrin'  he'd  go  to  the  well 
that  was  half  a  mile  or  so  from  the  place,  an'  he  was 
ashamed  to  go  there,  as  he  tould  me  himself  afther,  for  fear 
the  bailie  'id  say  it  was  tired  or  schemin'  he  was.  So,  sir, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  afther  that  drink,  feen  a  day's 
good  he  iver  done  since  —  one  day  up  an'  anither  day 
down,  till  the  bit  i'  Ian'  wint  to  rack  on  us  intirely  for  want 
i'  labor,  himself  a  cripple,  I  may  say,  an'  me  havin'  plenty 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  215 

to  do  to  take  care  i'  the  weans.  So  last  year  we  wurn't 
able  to  pay  the  rent,  an'  av  coorse,  we  had  to  lave  the 
place." 

"  Did  you  make  your  difficulties  known  to  the  Agent  ?  " 
inquired  the  colonel. 

"  Indeed,  then,  I  did  sir ;  myself  an'  them  four  childher 
ye  see  there  (the  little  one  in  the  girsah's  arms  wusn't  born 
then)  went  up  to  the  Moor,  an'  them  an'  me  on  our  bended 
knees  at  his  hall-door,  begged  him  for  God's  sake  not  take 
the  roof  from  above  my  sick  husban'  an'  my  childher,  but  to 
give  us  sparence  for  another  year,  an'  then  we'd  lave  it 
'ithout  a  word.  Well,  sir,  it's  hard  to  forget  the  answer  I 
got."  Kathleen  turned  her  face  from  her  inquisitor,  to 
hide  the  emotion  she  endeavored  in  vain  to  suppress. 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "  and  what  reply  did  he 
make  ?  " 

"  He  tould  me,"  replied  Kathleen,  in  a  low  voice,  broken 
and  husky  —  "he  tould  me  to  go  to  h — 11  with  my  papish 
brats  from  about  his  doore,  or  he'd  hunt  the  dogs  on  me." 

Both  parties  were  silent  for  a  moment :  Kathleen  en 
deavoring  to  conquer  a  weakness  she  wished  not  to  show 
in  the  stranger's  presence ;  the  colonel  twisting  the  lash  of 
his  whip  round  his  fore-finger,  and  wondering  how  sensi 
tive  the  low  Irish  were  !  "  Well,  at  all  events,"  thought 
he,  "  my  Agent  is  somewhat  to  blame.  He  might  be  suf 
ficiently  zealous  in  the  holy  cause,  without  this  open  osten 
tatious  severity." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  you  have  not  told  me  all  this 
time  why  your  husband  is  in  jail." 

"  I'll  tell  you  that,  sir,  too.  It  was  afore  we  left  the 
place.  The  Recthor  an'  Procthor  an'  I'll  warrint  a  score  or 
more  iv  pelice,  cum  up  to  the  house  one  raornin'  to  lift  the 
tithe.  Ned,  av  coorse,  up  an'  tould  the  Kecthor  he  cudn't 
pay  it,  seein'  he  didn't  do  a  hand's  turn  for  a  twelmonth 
afore,  an'  hadn't  a  livin'  cleet  iv  a  baste  kine  about  the 
house  but  the  goat,  that  we  kept  out  i'  the  rack  av  all  we 


216  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OB 

had,  to  give  the  drap  i'  nourishin'  to  the  childher.  The 
Recthor  tould  him  plurap  an'  plain  it  wudn't  do  —  he'd 
have  his  tithe  wherever  it  cum  from.  '  Faith,  an'  if  ye  do,' 
siz  Ned  up  to  him  again,  *  ye'll  get  what  ye  niver  give 
value  for,  seem'  I  niver  entered  yer  church  doore,  nor  one 
i'  my  breed,  let  alone  me.'  *  The  church  is  there  for  ye, 
my  fine  fella,'  siz  the  Recthor,  '  av  ye  choose  to  go.'  Faith, 
an'  siz  Ned  to  him  back  again,  '  Ye  ought  to  keep  up  the 
ould  rule,  as  ye  drink,  ye  pay  ;  an'  as  I  niver  made  a  part 
i'  the  company  or  sat  at  the  table,  'am  shure  an  sartin  I've 
no  right  to  pay  a  part  i'  the  reckeninV  So,  sir,  one  word 
borrowed  another,  till  the  Recthor  ordhered  the  pelice  to 
go  in  an'  saize  whatever  they'd  get,  as  a  pledge  for  the 
tithe.  In  they  cum,  sir,  an'  Ned  seem'  it  was  iv  no  use  to 
think  iv  preventin'  them,  stud  with  his  back  to  the  wall, 
luckin'  on  at  the  rummagin'  they  made,  and  niver  openin 
his  lips  more  nor  the  child  there,  till  the  Procthor  opened 
the  room  doore,  an'  cum  down  to  where  myself  was  lying 
in  with  that  wean  ye  see  in  the  girsah's  arms,  and  begun 
to  tear  the  blankets  aff  the  bed  I  was  streeched  on.  '  Don't 
do  that,  sir,'  siz  Ned,  follyin'  the  Procthor  to  the  room. 
'  Silence,  ye  papish  villain,'  siz  the  Procthor,  '  or  I'll  have  ye 
gagged  and  handcuffed.'  '  Oh,  sir,  for  the  love  i'  heaven,' 
siz  Ned,  'don't  strip  the  creathur,  an'  her  lyin'  in  the  state 
she's  in.'  'Begone,  ye  scoundrel,'  siz  the  Procthor;  'I'll 
have  the  tithe  if  she  hadn't  the  straw  to  cover  her ;  let  her 
go  into  the  stable  among  the  rushes,  and  have  her  brat  av 
she  likes.'  So  with  that,  sir,  the  Procthor  begins  to  haul 
the  blanket,  and  me  houldin'  agin  him.  'Let  go  the 
blanket,'  siz  the  Procthor.  '  For  God's  sake,'  siz  I,  '  let  me 
have  it  for  a  minit  or  two,  till  I  get  somethin'  else  to  cover 
me.'  Well,  sir,  when  Ned  heerd  me  screechin'  for  marcy, 
he  cudn't  thole  it  any  longer,  so  liftin'  a  spade-shaft  that 
lay  beside  the  bed,  he  struck  the  Procthor  over  the  skull, 
and  levelled  him  on  the  floore.  Then  the  Recthor  himself, 
hearin'  the  ruction  in  the  room,  run  down,  an'  ye  may  be 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  217 

sure  got  in  a  mighty  wondherful  passion,  when  he  sees  the 
Procthor  bleedin'.  So  he  ordhered  the  pelice  to  take  Ned 
prisoner,  an'  affthey  marched  him  that  same  minit  to  Don 
egal.  Nixt  mornin'  Ned  was  brought  handcuffed  afore  the 
bench  i'  jistice,  and  as  the  Recthor  himself  was  the  only 
magistrate  in  court,  he  sentenced  him  to  Lifford  jail,  where 
he's  lyin'  since." 

"  I  doubt  very  much,  my  good  neighbor,"  observed  the 
colonel,  after  Kathleen  had  finished  her  somewhat  tedious 
story,  "  I  doubt  there's  more  feeling  than  truth  in  this  tale." 

Kathleen  looked  at  the  stranger  (for  the  colonel  was  a 
perfect  stranger  to  her),  as  if  to  learn  from  the  expression 
of  his  countenance,  whether  he  sympathized  in  her  mis 
fortunes  ;  and  seeing  the  incredulous  smile  upon  his  face 
correspond  with  the  words  he  had  just  uttered,  said,  with 
much  unaffected  simplicity,  — 

"  A  poor  body's  word's  always  doubted,  sir ;  an'  slmre  I 
can't  blame  ye  for  that,  for  our  blissed  Saviour  himself 
wusn't  bleved,  becase  he  was  poor.  God  help  us  to  bear 
our  trials  as  he  did." 

"  But  did  the  Proctor  really  and  actually  take  the  blanket 
from  above  you  ?  " 

"  As  God  is  my  jidge,"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  clasping 
her  hands  together,  and  raising  her  eyes  in  appeal  to  the 
bright  heaven  above  her,  "'am  tellin'  ye,  sir,  the  honest 
truth."  * 

"Well  —  very  well,  my  good  woman;  but  do  you  not 
see  that  the  law  of  the  land  entitled  the  Recto i*  to  his  tithe  ? 
You  may  think  the  treatment  you  received  very  harsh,  no 
doubt,  but  if  the  church  be  not  supported  by  the  strong 
arm  of  the  law  in  asserting  its  rights  and  claims,  why  — 
then  you  perceive  —  then,  ah  —  yes,  things  would  go  on 
very  differently.  As  to  your  husband's  conduct,  it  was 
very  reprehensible  —  a  grievous  violation  of  the  law." 

*  We  state  the  facts  as  given  in  evidence  before  the  court. 


218  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OK 

"True  enough,  sir,"  replied  Kathleen,  "but  maybe  if 
your  wife  (I  ax  yer  pardon  for  comparin'  her  to  me)  was 
in  the  same  state,  ye  cud  n't  help  it." 

The  colonel  smiled  at  the  idea  the  simple  words  con 
veyed. 

"  If  the  Procthor  had  went  up  to  the  kitchen  as  I  wanted 
him,  till  I'd  get  my  duds  about  me,  poor  Ned  wudn't  lift  a 
hand  to  him;  but  he  wudn't;  he  said  the  rushes  was  good 
enough  for  me.  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  sayin',  after  Ned  was 
pit  in  jail,  the  Agent  went  through  with  the  'jectment  he 
sarved  us  afore ;  sowld  all  the  bits  i'  pleneshin'  we  had, 
and  driv  iz  out  on  the  wide  world,  myself  an'  these  help 
less  childher.  But  we  oughtn't  to  complain,  sir ;  God's 
good.  Shure  if  we  suffer  now,  maybe  our  suiferin's  'ill  be 
less  when  the  long  day  comes,  when  there  'ill  be  no  differ 
ence  atween  the  rich  and  the  poor.  Only  for  thinkin'  i' 
that,  sir,  our  hearts  'id  brake  long  ago.  An  shure,  sir,  God 
niver  forgets  us,  maybe  when  we're  not  thinkin'  av  him  at 
all ;  wusn't  it  him  (glory  be  to  his  holy  name !)  pit  the 
charity  in  our  neighbors'  hearts  to  build  up  this  wee  craw 
here  for  iz  in  our  diffiquilty  ?  But  'am  tould,  sir,"  she 
added,  looking  inquisitively  at  her  companion,  "'am  tould 
the  colonel  himself's  come ;  maybe  he  might  do  somethin' 
for  me,  if  I  axed  him,  av  it  was  only  in  regard  i'  the 
childher." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  Colonel  Templeton  ?" 

"  Niver,  sir ;  but  I  know  he's  very  rich,  and  wudn't  miss 
a  trifle  to  a  poor  body." 

"Perhaps  not,  if  the  poor  body  were  deserving." 

"  As  to  that,  sir,  I  don't  know ;  but  iv  poverty  makes  us 
desarvin'  av  charity,  marcy  knows  we  have  enough  av  it 
here.  If  Providence  disn't  send  us  some  help  afore  many 
days,  we'll  have  to  beg  our  bit  an'  our  sup  through  the 
county,  lake  the  rest  i'  the  poor  creathurs  that's  goin'. 
But  there's  some  hope  afore  us  yet,  sir;  we  musn't  despair 
till  the  last.  I  wus  tould,  whin  the  colonel  'id  come  he'd 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  219 

bring  me  somethin'  to  relieve  me  in  my  distress.  God 
grant  it.  Many's  the  prayer  I  prayed  in  the  dead  i'  the 
night,  when  the  childher  'id  be  sleepin'  about  me,  for  that 
hour  to  soon  reach  us." 

"  If  you  long  to  see  Colonel  Templeton,  he  is  now  be 
fore  you." 

"  You,  sir  ?  "  ejaculated  Kathleen. 

The  colonel  bowed,  and  smiled  patronizingly. 

"  Oh,  hierna ! "  exclaimed  the  poor  woman,  terrified  at 
the  thought  of  having  spoken  so  long  and  so  familiarly  in 
such  a  presence.  "  I  beg  yer  honor's  pardon,"  she  added, 
while  her  voice  trembled  with  agitation  —  "I  beg  yer 
honor's  pardon  for  bein'  so  bowld  as  to  —  " 

"  As  to  what  ?  "  inquired  the  colonel,  observing  her 
hesitation. 

"  As  to  spake  to  yer  honor  in  regard  i'  the  Agent  an' 
the  Procthor." 

"  But  you  have  told  nothing  but  the  truth — have  you?" 

"  Noa,  indeed,  yer  honor,  more  nor  if  the  book  was  in 
my  han'." 

"  Who  told  you  of  my  corning  here  to  comfort  you  in 
your  misfortunes?" 

«  The  Bible  Reader,  sir." 

"  Which  of  them  —  Mr.  Goodsoul  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yer  honor." 

"  Ah!  your  name  is  Catharine  Kennedy?" 

"  Yes,  yer  honor." 

"  All  these  children  are  yours  —  are  they  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yer  honor,  an'  two  more  that  died  when  eight  days 
ould." 

"Mr.  Goodsoul  was  right,  my  good  woman;  I  have 
brought  you  a  present  —  a  very  valuable  present  indeed." 
The  colonel  stepped  over  to  the  gig. 

Kathleen  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and  crossed  her 
hands  upon  her  bosom.  She  could  not  speak ;  but  the  big 
tears  rushed  out,  and  trickled  down  her  palec  heeks.  They 


220  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

were  the  tears  of  unspeakable  gratitude  —  a  far  sweeter  and 
holier  tribute  than  the  lips  of  angels  could  offer.     "Go  in 

—  go  in,  Bridget  dear,  ahasky?  she  muttered  at  length,  as 
she  wiped  the  drops  from  her  eyes;  "go  in,  an'  bring  the 
childher  with  ye  —  that's  the  colonel  himself,  asthore  ;  and 
God  be  praised,  he  has  somethin'  with  him  to  relieve  us. 
Go  in,  an'  I'll  let  ye  see  it  all  when  he  goes  away." 

The  good  man  having  taken  a  parcel  of  considerable  size 
from  the  vehicle,  carried  it  in  his  arms  carefully,  and  stoop 
ing  low,  entered  the  hut. 

Having  placed  his  goodly  person  on  something  resem 
bling  a  chair,  he  requested  Kathleen  to  approach  him. 

With  joy  beaming. in  her  care-worn  but  still  handsome 
face  (for  Kathleen  Kennedy  was  once  the  beauty  of  her 
native  village),  her  heart  beating  rapidly  in  anticipation 
of  the  bounty  that  God  sent  her  in  the  hour  of  distress, 
and  surrounded  by  her  children,  each  holding  a  portion  of 
her  tattered  garments,  and  gazing  anxiously  in  the  face  of 
the  well-dressed  stranger,  she  stood  there,  gentle  reader  — 
the  traces  of  recent  tears  still  visible  on  her  faded  cheeks 

—  she  stood  there,  the  living  epitome  of  her  country  be 
fore  the  mercy-seat  of  England! 

Kathleen's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  parcel.  She  saw, 
in  an  instant,  her  children  clothed  with  the  garments  it 
contained,  —  their  hearts  bounding  happily  as  they  con 
templated  their  new  holiday-dresses,  —  herself  in  a  new 
gown  and  buskins,  cheerily  setting  out  on  her  long  jour 
ney  to  visit  poor  Ned  in  Lifford  jail.  As  the  colonel  slow 
ly  untied  the  bundle,  there  was  a  pause  of  painful  suspense 

—  pain  not  arising  from  doubt,  but  an  absorbing  anxiety 

—  and,  except  the  rustle  of  the  paper  that  wrapped  the 
parcel,  no  sound  was  to  be  heard,  not  even  a  breath,  from 
the  members  of  that  ragged  group. 

Reader,  the  gentleman  who  occupied  the  chair  had  an 
income  of  twenty-four  thousand  pounds  sterling  per  an 
num  —  the  woman  before  him,  one  bushel  of  potatoes  for 
herself  and  her  little  ones ! 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  221 

At  length  the  valuable  present  was  drawn  forth,  and 
placed  in  the  woman's  hand. 

"  There,"  said  the  colonel,  looking  up  compassionately 
in  Kathleen's  face ;  "  there  —  blessed  are  they  that  mourn, 
for  they  shall  be  comforted." 

Kathleen  in  an  instant  recognized  the  gift  (it  was  a 
small  duodecimo  Bible  —  Goodsoul  had  once  before  pre 
sented  it  to  her),  and  as  she  did,  the  warm  blood  which 
the  excitement  of  hope  had  called  up  for  an  instant  to  her 
pallid  cheek,  rushed  back  rapidly  on  her  heart,  sickening 
and  freezing  as  it  went.  It  was  a  moment  of  bitter  an 
guish.  Full  of  the  long-cherished  hope  that  for  days  and 
weeks  before  had  enabled  her  to  battle  with  adversity,  — 
now  at  last  about  to  reap  the  reward  of  her  patience  and 
long-suffering,  —  now  about  to  witness  with  her  own  eyes 
an  immediate  alleviation  of  the  corporal  wants  of  herself 
and  her  destitute  children,  —  she  was  prepared  to  kneel 
before  the  instrument  of  Divine  mercy,  and  shed  tears  of 
gratitude  at  his  feet.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  No.  It  was 
the  price  of  the  soul  that  should  clothe  the  body. 

Kathleen  returned  the  book,  but  made  no  reply  in  words : 
it  was  the  heart  that  spoke.  She  turned  up  her  eyes  in  a 
mute  appeal  to  the  burning  bosom  of  her  Redeemer,  from 
the  cold  charity  of  man. 

The  children  still  holding  on  by  her  dress,  and  perceiv 
ing  her  endeavors  to  repress  her  rising  emotion,  as  she 
refused  to  accept  the  present,  burst  out  into  tears,  and 
strove  to  drag  her  away  from  the  stranger. 

"  This,  my  poor  woman,  is  the  Holy  Bible,"  resumed  the 
colonel.  "  It  is  sent  you  by  the  Almighty  —  refuse  it  not, 
for  it  is  the  bearer  of  glad  tidings.  It  will  cheer  you  in 
your  solitude,  and  comfort  you  in  your  afflictions." 

"It's  av  no  use  to  me,  yer  honor — not  the  laste,"  she 
replied,  whilst  the  words  seemed  half  choked  in  the  utter 
ance.  "  Whist !  asthore,  don't  cry  —  don't,  dear." 

"  No  use  —  the  Bible  no  use  !  " 


222  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OK 

"  Shure,  feen  a  word  myself  can  read,  yer  honor." 

"What,  refuse  the  bread  of  life !  —  the  —  " 

"  'Am  not  refusiu'  it,  yer  honor.  I  know  it's  good  ;  but  I 
thought  yer  honor  had  somethin'  to  give  me  for  the  childher 
—  if  it  was  only  a  rag  to  cover  their  naked  bodies,  I'd  be 
thankful.  I  was  thinkin'  yer  honor  might  give  myself  the 
price  av  a  pair  i'  shoes  to  carry  me  to  Lifford  to  see  Ned 
afore  he  dies.  Ochone,  ochone,  sir,  I  thought  when  I'd 
once  see  yer  honor,  I'd  be  soon  on  my  journey  to  the  father 
i'  my  helpless  childher ;  but  it  seems  it  wusn't  afore  me. 
An'  there's  five  spengle  i'  yarn  I  was  keepin'  to  buy  some- 
thin'  to  norish  him  when  I'd  go  there,  if  I  had  only  a  da- 
cent  rag  to  kerry  me  to  the  strange  place  —  " 

"But  listen  to  me." 

"  An'  the  good,  kindly  neighbors  —  may  the  Almighty 
in  heaven  reward  them  for  it !  —  was  to  keep  the  childher 
for  me  till  I'd  come  back  again.  An'  shure  I  was  dhramin' 
last  night  atself,  that  I  was  sittin'  aside  Ned  where  he  was 
brakin'  stones  in  the  jail,  an'  him  askin'  me  about  the  crea- 
thurs  at  home,  an'  me  tellin'  him  all." 

"  Woman,"  exclaimed  the  colonel,  "  will  you  not  permit 
rne  to  speak  ?  " 

"  I  beg  yer  honor's  pardon." 

"Well,  listen  to  me  attentively." 

"  I  will,  yer  honor." 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  Bible  is  ?  " 

"Yes,  yer  honor;  it's  the  Word  i'  God." 

"  True ;  and  this  holy  book  is  put  into  your  hands  by  the 
owner  of  this  estate,  —  by  your  landlord,  —  the  proprietor 
of  the  site  on  which  this  house  is  built,  and  built,  too, 
without  permission  either  of  myself  or  my  agent.  Do 
you  understand  me?" 

"  Yes,  yer  honor." 

"  Well,  you  refuse  to  accept  the  Word  of  God  from  one, 
without  whose  permission  this  house  would  not  remain 
standing  twenty-four  hours  longer." 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  223 

"I  know  that,  yer  honor;  but  shure  you  wudn't  turn  us 
out  again  on  the  wide  world,  sir !  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God ! 
you  wudn't  do  that." 

"  Listen,  woman." 

"  'Am  listenin',  yer  honor." 

"  This  hut  is  an  eyesore  on  the  estate ;  it  should  not 
have  been  built  in  this  public  place  —  you  understand  me  ? 
Well,  will  you  receive  the  Holy  Bible  ?  " 

"  Shure  I  can't  read  a  blissed  word,  yer  honor ;  I  niver 
learned  to  read  in  that  way  at  all,  sir." 

"  In  what  way  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  out  of  a  book,  sir,  seein'  I  niver  got  any  school- 
in'." 

"And  how  else  can  you  read,  pray?" 

"  It's  little  I  can  read  any  way,  yer  honor  —  'am  a  poor 
ignorant  creathur." 

"  Little  !  can  you  read  at  all,  woman  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  a  much,  yer  honor." 

"And  what  is  that  much,  may  I  ask  you  —  eh,  what 
is  it?" 

"  Only  the  cross,  yer  honor,"  replied  Kathleen,  looking 
towards  a  miserable  bed  in  the  opposite  corner,  at  the  foot 
of  which  a  brass  crucifix  was  suspended. 

"Read  the  cross,"  repeated  Colonel  Templeton ;  "why, 
such  an  expression  I  surely  never  heard  before." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  the  priest  makes  us  larn  to  read  it  when  we're 
young." 

"  When  you're  young  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  iz  that  niver  got  any  schoolinV 

"  Ah  !     And  what  do  you  mean  by  reading  the  cross  ?  " 

"  Why,  it's  goin'  over  in  our  own  minds  all  our  blissed 
Lord  done  for  us." 

"All  he  did  for  you?" 

"  Yes,  yer  honor ;  we  see  it  all  there  plain  afore  us,"  and 
Kathleen  pointed  to  the  image. 

"On  the  crucifix?" 


224  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OB 

"Yes,  sir:  we  can  read  a'most  everything  there." 

"  Can  you,  indeed  ?  how  so,  pray  ?  " 

"  Why,  yer  honor,  if  we  begin  at  the  soles  av  his  feet, 
an'  go  up  to  the  crown  av  his  head,  we'll  see  all  he  suffered 
an'  how  well  he  loved  us,  all  at  onst,  yer  honor  ;  far  sooner 
nor  we  cud  read  it  in  a  book.  The  weans  there  can  read 
it  now,  all  but  the  two  youug  ones." 

"And  what  benefit,  my  good  woman,  do  you  derive 
from  reading  the  cross,  as  you  term  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bedad,  yer  honor,  only  for  that,  iz  poor  creathurs 
cudn't  live  at  all ;  so  we  cudn't.  Why,  when  we  luck  at 
him  there,  we  see  our  blissed  Saviour,  stripped  a'most 
naked  lake  ourselves;  whin  we  luck  at  the  crown  i'  thorns 
on  the  head,  we  see  the  Jews  mockin'  him,  jist  the  same 
as  —  some  people  mock  ourselves  for  our  religion ;  whin 
we  luck  at  his  eyes,  we  see  they  wor  niver  dry,  like  our  own  ; 
whin  we  luck  at  the  wound  in  his  side,  why,  we  think  less  av 
our  own  wounds  an'  bruises,  we  get'  'ithin  an'  'ithout,  every 
day  av  our  lives.  An'  then,  yer  honor,  seein'  we're  jist  like 
our  blissed  Lord,  why,  it  comforts  us,  it  makes  us  some  way 
thankful,  that  our  lives  is  like  his  own.  Oh,  indeed,  yer 
honor,  only  for  that  we  wudn't  do  at  all;  maybe  it's 
tempted  to  murdher,  an'  rob,  an'  steal,  we'd  be,  when  the 
hunger  bites  us.  An'  then,  in  regard  i'  tachin'  the  child  her, 
it's  far  easier,  if  I  hear  one  i'  them  cursin',  or  takin'  His 
holy  name  in  vain,  to  point  up  to  the  Saviour's  lips,  on  the 
cross  there,  nor  to  be  luckin'  out  for't  in  the  Bible,  even  set 
in  case  I  cud  read." 

"  Unfortunate  woman,"  said  the  colonel,  solemnly ;  "  you 
depend  for  salvation  on  dead  works,  and  you  want  the 
faith  by  which  alone  you  can  deserve  it." 

"Maybe  so,  yer  honor,"  replied  Kathleen,  not  under 
standing  the  colonel's  observation. 

"I  mean,"  repeated  the  colonel,  "you  want  faith  —  that 
is,  you  do  not  believe  on  Christ." 

"  Believe  on  Christ,  yer  honor  ?  " 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  225 

"  Yes ;  you  do  not  put  your  whole  faith  on  him  —  you 
don't  depend  sufficiently  on  the  merits  of  the  great  atone 
ment.  You  want  faith  to  regenerate  you." 

"  Oh,  masha  indeed,  yer  honor,  I'll  warrint  that's  true 
enough ;  I  strive  to  do  all  I  can  for  my  poor  sowl,  but 
shure  when  we  do  our  best  it's  only  jist  the  name  iv  it  we 
do  after  all.  Its  doin'  penance  for  our  sins  we'd  be  all  our 
lifetime,  if  we  only  jist  thought  what  sufferins  we  cost  our 
blissed  Saviour  himself." 

"  You  don't  understand  me,  woman,"  interrupted  the 
colonel. 

"Don't  I,  yer  honor?" 

"  No.     Do  you  know  what  spiritual  regeneration  is  ?  " 

"  Feen  a  know  I  do,  yer  honor." 

"Poor  woman  —  you  are  greatly  to  be  pitied." 

"  True  for  you,  sir,  an'  them  five  helpless  childher  at  my 
feet,  and  my  husband  in  jail  dying  —  " 

"  Stop,  woman,  I  did  not  allude  to  your  corporal,  but  to 
your  spiritual  wants." 

«  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  do  you  understand  what  is  meant  by  justifica 
tion  by  faith?" 

"  Feen  a  know  I  do,  yer  honor." 

"  Nor  what  gospel  light  is  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  yer  honor." 

"And  what  do  you  know  of  religion  —  nothing?" 

"  Not  a  hap'orth,  yer  honor,  barrin'  my  cross  an'  my 
beads." 

"  Woman  —  woman,  this  is  downright  idolatry.  What 
benefit  is  that  piece  of  brass  to  you  ?  " 

"Why,  yer  honor?" 

"  Why,  it  can  neither  speak,  hear,  nor  understand  you." 

"  An'  shure  the  Bible  can't  either,  beggin'  yer  honor's 
pardon." 

"  It  can  teach  you  to  save  your  soul." 

"  Bedad,  I  think  the  cross  teaches  me  better ;  it  spakes 
15 


226  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

to  me  far  plainer,  so  it  does.  Maybe,  as  yer  honor  says, 
if  one  cud  read  the  Bible  it'd  be  best ;  but  sure  iz  poor 
ignorant  creathurs  that  can't  read,  our  cross  an'  our  beads 
is  all  the  comfort  we  have." 

"  "Wretched  woman ! "  exclaimed  the  colonel,  shaking 
his  head  solemnly,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  Bible,  "  if 
you  could  get  some  pious  Christian  to  read  this  holy  book 
for  you,  the  cross  and  the  beads  would  soon  be  aban 
doned." 

"  Is  it  give  them  up  entirely,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  forever." 

"  Oh,  bedad,"  said  Kathleen,  smiling  at  the  colonel's 
loose  notions  of  her  religious  prepossessions  ;  "  we  cudn't 
do  that  at  all,  sir." 

"  You  speak  as  a  child  does  of  its  playthings  —  your 
religion  is  all  in  the  fancy." 

"  An'  what  'id  we  do  night  or  mornin',  when  we  hadn't 
the  cross  an'  beads  to  say  our  padareen  partauch  —  our 
prayers  I  mean,  yer  honor  ?  Oh,  fegs  indeed  yer  honor, 
we  cudn't  part  with  them  at  all,  at  all." 

Here  occurred  a  very  sudden  interruption  to  the  collo 
quy,  that  quite  disturbed  the  good  gentleman's  equanimity. 

Bridget,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  suspected  from 
the  latter  part  of  the  conversation  between  her  mother 
and  the  colonel,  that  the  stranger  came  to  take  away  the 
cross  and  beads,  and  in  order  to  prevent  what  she  believed 
to  be  an  act  of  the  most  sacrilegious  impiety,  had  stealthily 
removed  them  to  a  place  of  concealment.  Whilst  doing 
so,  she  communicated  her  suspicions  to  her  younger 
brother.  The  child,  disregarding  the  great  man's  author 
ity,  stole  over  quietly  behind  where  he  sat,  and  lifting. a 
long  pole,  called  in  Irish  parlance  a  wattle,  let  it  fall  with 
all  its  momentum  on  the  bare  bald  head  of  the  unconscious 
colonel. 

"  Oh,  heavens  !  "  roared  the  good  man,  starting  from  his 
seat,  "what's  that?" 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  227 

"  Put  him  out,  mammy,  put  him  out ! "  cried  the  child ; 
"he  wants  to  take  away  the  cross  and  beads.  Oh, 
mammy  dear,  don't  let  him  take  them  —  don't,  mammy." 

Kathleen  whipped  the  child,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
then  turned  to  implore  her  landlord's  forgiveness. 

Colonel  Templeton  kept  rubbing  his  head  for  a  minute 
or  two,  muttering  at  the  same  time  sundry  very  equivocal 
blessings  on  the  violator  of  his  sacred  person,  and  then 
bending  down,  requested  Kathleen  to  see  if  there  was  not 
a  severe  contusion. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Kathleen  Kennedy  ? "  said  a 
voice  almost  at  her  very  ear. 

Kathleen  looked  up.  "  Why,  goodness  be  near  us ! 
Father  Domnick  dear,  is  that  you  ?  " 

"  Father  Domnick,"  repeated  the  colonel,  turning  round 
quickly,  and  staring  at  the  priest. 

"  I  was  riding  by,  colonel,"  said  the  priest,  bowing  low, 
and  endeavoring  to  suppress  a  smile  —  "  and  happened  to 
look  in  just  as  the  blow  fell." 

"  But  a  mere  trifle,  sir,"  observed  the  colonel. 

"I  stepped  from  the  road  to  make  you  my  respects,  sir, 
and  offer  my  assistance,  if  necessary.  I  assure  you, 
colonel,  it  should  be  seen  to  —  it  must  have  been  a  severe 
blow." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir ;  it's  of  no  consequence." 

"  Kathleen,"  said  the  priest,  "  is  there  any  extravasa — 
I  mean  any  appearance  of  blood  about  the  part,  or  any 
swelling  —  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bedad,  yer  reverence,"  replied  Kathleen,  "  it's 
a'most  as  big  as  an  egg  a'ready." 

"  How  unfortunate  !  I  would  recommend  cold  lotions, 
colonel,  for  the  present ;  and  when  you  reach  home,  a  little 
burnt  brandy  and  Chili  vinegar  will  be  the  best  liniment 
you  can  apply :  be  careful,  however,  not  to  expose  the 
contused  part  to  the  cold.  Good  morning,  colonel.  'Am 
happy  to  find  the  accident  is,  after  all,  but  trifling.  Good 
morning." 


228  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

As  Father  Domnick  was  turning  his  horse's  head  from 
the  door,  he  stooped  and  whispered  a  word  or  two  in 
Kathleen's  ear. 

"  Very  well,  my  honest  woman,"  resumed  Colonel  Tem- 
pleton,  tying  up  the  parcel ;  "  I  cannot  tarry  any  longer. 
You  have  spurned  the  Gospel  from  your  door  —  it's  time 
the  messenger  should  leave  also.  Remember,  however, 
this  hut  must  be  thrown  down  immediately  —  perhaps  to 
morrow.  It  cannot  remain  standing  here,  a  disgrace  to 
the  whole  estate." 

"  Oh,  for  marcy's  sake,  yer  honor,  don't  drive  me  an'  my 
childher  out  again  on  the  cowld  world." 

"  A  wretch  who  rejects  the  word  of  God,"  retorted  the 
colonel,  "deserves  no  commiseration." 

"  Don't  put  me  out,  yer  honor,  till  Ned's  time  is  up  in 
jail,  an'  then  we'll  lave  it  in  a  thousan'  welkims." 

"  Peace,  woman  —  you  deserve  no  pity." 

"  Don't  leave  me  in  anger,"  entreated  Kathleen,  follow 
ing  her  landlord  to  the  road.  "  Maybe  if  I'd  take  the 
Bible,  ye'd  do  somethin'  for  poor  Ned  ?  " 

"If  you  accept  the  Holy  Bible,"  replied  the  colonel,  in 
a  kinder  tone,  and  "  conform  to  the  doctrine  it  teaches,  I 
shall  feel  a  pleasure,  as  well  as  consider  it  a  duty,  to  re 
lieve  you  from  your  present  afflictions." 

"  But  shure  it  'ont  be  any  harm,  yer  honor,"  innocently 
inquired  Kathleen,  "  to  say  my  prayers  on  the  beads?  " 

"  Beads !  you  must  abandon  all  such  superstitious  habits, 
attend  church  regularly,  and  learn  the  higher,  nobler  doc 
trine  of  justification  by  faith.  In  one  word,  my  honest 
woman,  you  must  be  a  Protestant  to  obtain  my  pat 
ronage." 

"  Wudn't  it  do,  yer  honor,  to  go  to  church  for  two  or 
three  Sundays,  like  the  rest  i'  the  converts  ?  " 

"Woman,"  exclaimed  the  colonel  in  an  angry  tone, 
"  your  language  is  offensive." 

"  I  humbly  ax  yer  honor's  pardon ;  I  didn't  mane  to  vex 
you,  sir." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  229 

"  Well,  will  you  conform  to  the  Protestant  faith  ?  " 

"  I'll  do  anything  yer  honor  wants  me,  for  the  sake  i' 
poor  Ned  an'  the  childher." 

"Miserable,  deluded  being!  it  must  not  be  for  your 
husband's,  nor  your  children's,  but  for  your  soul's  sake." 

"  Yes  sir,  sartintly  ;  I'll  do  anything  to  plase  yer  honor." 

"  Not  to  please  me,  woman,  but  your  Creator.  Human 
respect,  nor  worldly  interest,  can  have  part  in  your  con 
version." 

" No,  sir;  I'll  do  whativer  you  tell  me,  yer  honor." 

"  Here,  then,  is  the  sacred  book.  Have  it  read  for  your 
spiritual  instruction  as  often  as  possible.  You  will  find  it 
a  true  friend  amid  all  the  troubles  of  life.  Try  to  obtain 
the  indwelling  of  the  Spirit" 

"  Av  coorse,  yer  honor  —  sartintly." 

"  When  I  see  Mr.  Goodsoul,  I'll  ask  him  to  call  occasion 
ally  ;  he  will  be  happy  to  afford  you  all  the  spiritual  aid 
he  can." 

"  I'd  rather  have  some  ither  one,  yer  honor." 

"  Some  other  —  why  so,  pray  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Kathleen,  blushing 
slightly. 

"Speak  out,  woman  —  what  objection  can  you  have  to 
Mr.  Goodsoul?" 

"  Feen  a  much,  yer  honor ;  only  I  don't  lake  him  some 
way.  He  was  here  aften  afore,  and  he's  always  spakin',  so 
he  does,  av  me  niver  seem'  my  husban'  again,  an'  ither 
quare  things  that  makes  me  hate  him." 

"  Hut-tut,  poor  woman,  you  don't  understand  him,"  said 
the  colonel,  smiling  at  Kathleen's  simplicity  ;  "  he  was 
offering  you  consolation  in  your  distress,  and  you  attrib 
uted  it,  perhaps,  to  another  motive.  Oh,  no  —  Mr.  Good- 
soul  is  a  very  pious,  God-fearing  Levite." 

Kathleen  looked  up  at  the  colonel,  but  said  nothing. 

"And  now,  Catharine,  I  shall  expect  you  to  come  to 
the  Moor,  for  garments  for  yourself  and  your  little  cliil- 


230  SHANDY  M'GUIRE. 

dren,  to-morrow  evening,  and  to  appear  next  evening  at 
the  Methodist  meeting.  Mr.  Sweetsoul  preaches  on  the 
occasion."  The  colonel  entered  his  gig. 

"  Thank  yer  honor,"  said  Kathleen,  making  a  humble 
courtesy  ;  "  and  afther  that,  maybe  yer  honor  'id  do  some- 
thin'  for  Ned." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'll  think  of  that,"  responded  the  landlord, 
cracking  his  whip.  "  Good  morning,  Catherine,  and  don't 
forget  your  Bible." 

Kathleen  returned  to  her  miserable  cabin. 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  231 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

CONTAINING  SOME  SECEETS  THAT  MAY  PKOVE  VERY  IN 
TERESTING  TO  "  RELIGIOUS  TEA-PARTIES,"  DEN's  THE 
OLOGY  LECTURERS,  OLD  MAIDENS,  AND  NURSERY-GIRLS. 

COLONEL  TEMPLETON  had  hardly  passed  out  of  view  of 
Kathleen  Kennedy's  cabin,  on  his  return  to  the  Moor  (for, 
owing  to  a  nervous  affection  of  the  head,  he  felt  somewhat 
indisposed  to  continue  his  ride  any  farther  that  morning), 
when  he  overtook  an  old  man  hobbling  along  the  road,  and 
apparently  making  his  way  to  the  village. 

"  Yer  honor's  humble  sarvint,"  said  the  man,  taking  off 
his  hat,  and  bowing  profoundly  to  the  colonel,  as  the  latter 
reined  in  his  horse  to  a  slower  pace. 

"  Going  to  town,  eh  ?  Put  on  your  hat,  honest  man  — 
put  on  your  hat." 

"  Yes,  yer  honor,  'am  strivin'  to  go  that  far." 
"  You're  lame,  I  perceive  —  what's  the  matter  ?  " 
"Masha,  indeed  then,  yer  honor,  it's  the  rheumatis  I 
have  these  four  years  past ;  'am  a'most  racked  to  death's 
doore  with  them.     Mony  a  disase  th'  ould  age  brings,  yer 
honor.     But  shure,  af  we  think  av  what  Job  suffered,  we'd 
oughtn't  to  complain." 

"  Humph  !  I  see  you  read  the  Bible  sometimes." 
"Well,  indeed  then,  sir,  it's  maybe  little  i'  that  same 
troubles  me,  so  it  is,  strivin'  night  an'  day  to  see  to  the 
childher,  the  creathurs ;  for  crippled  as  I  am,  it's  but  a 
poor  livin'  they'd  have  'ithout  me.  But  av  coorse,  I  read 
a  chapter  or  so  for  them  ivry  night,  an'  maybe  spen'  an 
hour  or  so  on  the  Sabbath." 


232  SHANDY    M'GTJIRE,    OR 

"  Ha  !  very  well  —  very  well,  indeed  ;  I'm  delighted  to 
hear  it." 

"  Well,  yer  honor,  I  saw  the  time  when  it's  little  I  cared 
for  the  Bible,  thinkin'  more  maybe  av  murtherin'  Orange 
men  an'  scrim magin'  at  fairs  an'  markets  than  av  savin'  the 
sowl ;  but  dear  be  thankit,  them  times  is  over,  yer  honor. 
Och,  och,  sir;  when  the  ould  age  comes,  it  brings  the  deep 
thoughts  alang  with  it." 

"  Very  true,  honest  man ;  and  what  is  your  name,  may 
I  ask?" 

"  I'm  one  Crawmshaugh,  yer  honor." 

«  Oawpshy  ?  " 

"Yis,  yer  honor;  my  name's  Neal,  but  the  neighbors 
call  me  Nealashin  a  Crawmshaugh,  that  is,  in  English,  wee 
Neal,  seein'  there's  a  big  Neal  a  Crawmshaugh  down  there 
in  Gurtnamonaugh." 

"  Are  you  a  Roman  Catholic  ?  " 

"Well,  yer  honor,"  replied  the  little  man,  leering  up  at 
his  inquisitor,  who  was  now  regarding  him  with  increased 
interest,  "  I  can't  say  but  I  wus  one  onst  in  my  days ;  but 
the  priest  says  I'm  none  now — maybe  he's  not  far  asthray." 

"  Come  into  the  gig,  poor  man,"  said  the  colonel,  assum 
ing  the  Samaritan  in  a"  moment  (the  effects  of  charity  are 
often  astonishing).  "  Come  in  ;  I  shall  carry  you  to  town." 

The  old  man  remonstrated  very  much  against  the  excess 
of  the  colonel's  benevolence.  It  was  out  of  all  reason  to 
take  such  a  ragged  creature  as  he  was  into  such  a  carriage, 
and  beside  such  a  richly-dressed  gentleman.  But  the  good 
man  would  take  no  excuse. 

"  Come  in,"  he  repeated,  in  a  more  authoritative  tone. 
And,  taking  the  old  man  by  the  hand,  he  helped  him  to  a 
seat  beside  him  in  the  silk-velvet  cushioned  vehicle. 

"  So  the  priest  says  you're  no  longer  a  Catholic  ?  "  re 
sumed  the  colonel. 

"  Bedad,  maybe  yer  honor's  a  Catholic  yerself^  if  it  wudn't 
be  too  bowld  to  ax  ye  ?  I'd  lake  to  know,  for  fraid  I'd  say 
too  much." 


TRICKS   UPON  TEAVELLEES.  233 

"  What,  do  you  not  know  Colonel  Templeton  ?  " 

"  You,  sir !  "  exclaimed  his  companion,  in  surprise,  tak 
ing  off  his  hat  a  second  time. 

"  Yes,  I  am  Colonel  Templeton  ;  but  be  not  astonished, 
poor  man  (observing  the  terror  his  companion  seemed  to 
feel)  —  compose  yourself —  I  am  happy  to  have  an  oppor 
tunity  of  conversing  with  you.  What  reason  had  the 
priest  to  disclaim  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  instigashin  av  it  wus,  yer  honor,  bekase  I  ust 
to  read  the  Bible  for  the  wife  an'  the  weans  av  a  Sabbath 
evenin'." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so  ?  "  demanded  the  colonel,  turning 
an  inquisitive  look  on  his  companion ;  u  eh  !  did  he  say  that 
was  the  reason  ?  " 

"  As  shure  as  my  name's  Crawmshaugh,  yer  honor ;  d'ye 
think  I'd— " 

"Well,  well,  but  can  you  prove  it?  can  you  swear  to 
the  fact  ?  " 

"  Be  all  the  —  " 

"  Stop,  stop  !  "  cried  the  colonel ;  "  no  swearing  here  — 
I  don't 'mean  that;  but  are  you  prepared  to  make  a  solemn 
declaration  before  —  " 

"Afore  jidge  an' jury,"  interrupted  Crawmshaugh,  with 
considerable  animation. 

"  But  how  did  the  priest  happen  to  know  you  read  the 
Bible?" 

"  Faith,  I  tould  him,  yer  honor." 

"  How  —  at  confession  ?  " 

"Av  coorse,  yer  honor,  I  had  to  tell  that  Liang  with  the 
rest." 

"  What  rest  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  rest  i'  my  sins,  yer  honor." 

"  Gracious  powers  !  "  exclaimed  the  colonel,  raising  his 
eyes  in  supplication  for  pity  on  the  ignorance  of  men; 
"  and  you  believed  it  a  sin  to  read  the  Holy  Bible  ?  " 

"  Och,  och !  that's  but  little  av  it,  yer  honor." 


234  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

"  I  suppose  so  —  no  doubt.  "Well,  but  did  the  priest  ab 
solve  you  from  that  sin,  as  he  calls  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  feen  a  bit  a  fear  av  him,"  responded  the  little  man, 
shaking  his  head.  "  I  hadn't  the  means  to  pay  him." 

"  What  a  horrible  traffic  in  immortal  souls  this  religion 
must  afford,"  said  the  colonel,  with  much  feeling.  "Oh, 
how  it  makes  the  heart  sicken." 

"  Well,"  he  again  resumed,  "  and  what  does  he  charge 
for  absolution  ?  " 

"  Oh,  different  prices,  sir." 

"Ah  !  indeed,  I  was  quite  ignorant  of  his  *  tariff.'  And 
how  does  he  regulate  the  price  ?  " 

"  Why,  accordin'  to  the  weight,  yer  honor." 

"  The  weight !  does  the  price  of  absolution  vary  as  the 
weight  ?  " 

"  Sartintly,  sir  —  some  more  an'  some  less.  Thirty  shil- 
lins  is  the  highest  'am  toul." 

"  Humph !  and  what  are  these  sins  he  charges  so  high 
for?" 

"  Why,"  answered  Crawmshaugh,  counting  them  slowly 
on  his  fingers,  "there's  murdher  —  that's  one;  there's 
house-burnin'  —  that's  two  ;  there's  readin'  the  Bible  — 
that's  three  —  " 

"  What !  —  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Fegs,  I'll  warrint  I  am,  yer  honor  —  what  way,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,  you  place  murder  and  reading  the  Bible  in  the 
same  category.  I  mean,  you  said  he  charged  as  much  for 
reading  the  Bible  as  he  did  for  murder." 

"Ah'  shure,  so  he  diz,  yer  honor." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?  " 

"  Serious  !  "  repeated  Crawmshaugh.  "  Oh,  yer  honor's 
only  jokin'  me  ;  feen  a  hate  else  yer  doin'.  Yer  honor 
knows  more  about  the  priests  than  I  do  myself,  so  ye  do 
—  yer  only  purtendin',  jist  to  hear  what  I  say,  that  ye 
may  tell  it  all  again  whin  ye  get  nmang  the  quality  lake 
yerself.  Bad  scran  to  the  hap'orth  else  yer  doin',  yer 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  235 

honor."  And  the  old  man  looked  up  inquisitively  in  the 
colonel's  face. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  honest  man,"  observed  the  colonel, 
seriously,  "I'm  very  far  from  joking.  On  the  contrary,  I 
am  horrified  to  think  what  you  say  may  be  true.  I  have 
heard  a  great  many  things  said  of  the  confessional ;  but 
up  to  this  moment,  I  had  no  idea  of  its  being  so  awfully 
corrupt." 

"  Ochone  !  ochone,  yer  honor !  colonel,  av  ye  only  knew 
but  the  half  iv  it." 

"And  you  say  murder  and  reading  the  Bible  are  for 
given  at  the  same  price  ?  " 

"  The  very  same,  yer  honor,  barrin'  it's  the  murdher  av 
a  heretic."  * 

"Ha!  is  that  cheaper?" 

"  Av  coorse,  yer  honor.  Oh,  that's  only  a  thrifle.  It 
ust  to  be  only  half  a  crown  a  head  ;  but  now,  since  the  hard 
times  come,  it's  down  to  a  shillin',  'am  toul." 

"  Good  heavens ! "  exclaimed  the  colonel ;  "  what  a  bar 
barous  people  ! " 

"  Begorra,  yer  honor,  it's  changed  times  with  the  clargy 
atself,  so  it  is.  A  man  nowadays  can  murdher  a  score  or 
two  av  heretics,  an'  niver  feel  his  pocket  the  lighter  —  a 
sack  av  oats,  or  a  two-year-ould  heifer,  'ill  clear  the  whole 
rackenin'.  But  bedad,  sir,  it  wusn't  so  when  I  was  a  breen 
ouge,  an'  that  same's  a  good  feck  i'  years  ago  ;  many's  the 
good  pound  the  priests  got  from  us  then,  when  the  ruc 
tions  was  plenty,  and  the  money  lake  sklate-stones.  There's 
Shemashin  Kelly,  that  lived  up  in  them  ould  walls  yer 
honor  sees  there  on  the  hill  above  —  a  son  av  ould  Step- 
ghaun  More  Nanannog  they  ust  to  call  him  for  a  byword. 
Well,  Shemashin  ust  to  make  his  bargain  beforehan'  with 
the  priest  for  all  he'd  murdher  in  the  twalmonth ;  and  fegs, 


*  The  priests  were  then  charged  with  conniving  at  the  murder  of 
heretics. 


236  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,   OR 

it  wusn't  his  tenpennys  or  halfcrowns  either  he'd  be  afther 
givin',  but  his  dacent  meldher  i'  meal,  an'  his  half  a  score  i' 
lambs  he'd  have  to  drive  afore  him  —  but  stop,  stop,  yer 
honor,  an'  let  me  down  —  let  me  down,  sir,  for  any  sake," 
entreated  Crawmshaugh,  suddenly  interrupting  himself  in 
his  tale  of  horrors.  "  I  know  them  people  comin'  up,  sir, 
and  if  they  see  me  with  you,  they'd  have  me  massacrated. 
Oh,  stop,  yer  honor,  an'  let  me  down." 

"What,  are  you  afraid  of  them  —  who  are  they?" 

"  Oh,  that's  Miss  O'Donnell,  yer  honor,  that's  dashing 
up  to  the  stone  wall,  an'  that's  Captain  O'Brien  afther  her. 
Look  —  her  horse  baulks.  Let  me  go,  yer  honor;  I  might 
buy  my  coffin  if  she'd  see  me  here." 

"Be  quiet,  man  —  you  must  remain.  Am  I  not  power 
ful  enough  to  protect  you  ?  " 

"  Look,  sir  —  see,  she  heads  him  to  the  wall  again.  Oh, 
tare-an-ages,  how  she  whips  him  —  ha !  she'll  tache  him  the 
haybrew  —  look  —  now  —  ha !  she's  over,  by  all  that's  gran' 
she  is ;  and  there's  the  captain  at  her  side.  Murdher,  see 
how  she  sits  her  horse  —  begorra,  she's  like  a  young  queen. 
By  the  table  i'  war,  isn't  it  a  pity  she's  a  papish  ?  But 
there  they  go  again  across  the  fields,  hoppin'  over  the 
ditches,  an'  laughin'  jist  as  if  it  was  on  the  level  stran' 
they  wur." 

The  speaker  seemed  to  take  an  extraordinary  interest  in 
the  chase.  His  whole  manner  underwent  an  instantaneous 
change:  his  voice  becoming  more  firm  and  energetic,  his 
limbs  less  feeble,  and  his  eyes  —  so  dull  before  —  sparkling 
and  animated.  Indeed,  so  unconscious  was  he  of  the  posi 
tion  he  occupied,  that  when  the  young  lady  turned  her 
horse  again  to  the  leap,  he  started  to  his  feet,  laid  hold  of 
the  colonel's  collar,  and  held  it  as  firmly  as  if  his  fingers 
had  been  a  vice.  The  colonel,  unused  to  such  familiarity, 
had  endeavored  to  shake  himself  free  of  the  rough,  un- 
gentlemanly  grip  of  his  excited  companion ;  but  he  might 
as  well  have  wrestled  and  remonstrated  with  a  pillar  of 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  237 

Hercules.  It  was  not,  therefore,  till  after  the  riders  had 
galloped  out  of  sight,  that  the  colonel  could  make  himself 
heard. 

"  Oawpshy,  I  say,  will  you  not  let  go  my  collar  ?  " 

"  Your  collar,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  stupid  fool,  do  you  not  see  you  have  got 
hold  of  my  collar?" 

Poor  Crawmshaugh  loosed  his  hold  instantly,  and  seemed 
greatly  terrified  at  the  thought  of  being  guilty,  even  un 
consciously,  of  so  sacrilegious  an  act.  He  offered  a  most 
humble  apology,  and  assured  the  colonel  it  was  out  of  his 
power  to  control  himself  when  he  saw  a  chase,  being  bred 
to  it  in  his  youth.  "Indeed,"  he  added,  "it's  my  wake- 
ness,  yer  honor,  an'  'am  afeerd  it  'ill  stick  to  me  while 
th'  ould  bones  hould  thegither." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  colonel,  "I  suppose  I  must  be  sat 
isfied  with  your  apology ;  but  how  is  it  you  fear  that  young 
lady  so  much?" 

"  Why,  yer  honor,  av  she  seen  me  ridin'  in  the  carriage 
with  you,  she'd  say  I  turned  Protestan'  out-an-out,  and 
then  it  'id  be  only  who'd  give  me  the  first  blow.  Oh,  be- 
gorra,  it  'id  be  no  child's  play,  yer  honor." 

"But  I  was  under  the  impression  all  the  time  you  were 
a  Protestant.  Did  you  not  tell  me  so  ?  " 

"  Sartintly,  yer  honor,  an'  I'll  niver  go  back  in  my  word ; 
but  I  didn't  tell  you  I  wint  to  church." 

"  No ;  but  why  not  go  to  church  ?  Is  it  fear  prevents 
you  ?  " 

"  Av  coorse,  yer  honor;  what  else  'id  it  be?" 

"  Suppose  I  both  supported  and  protected  you,  would 
you  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bedad,  it's  I  that  wud,  yer  honor,  an'  be  glad  i'  the 
offer." 

"Would  you  publicly  declare,  what  you  have  already 
told  me  of  confession,  and  its  secrets  ?  " 

"  Afore  the  world,  yer  honor,  an'  welcome." 


238  SHANDY   M'GUIBE,    OB 

"Before  a  congregation  ?" 

"  Afore  a  congregation." 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  Methodist  meeting  on  Thursday 
night,  and  rnake  the  same  revelations  you  have  just  now 
made?" 

"  I  will,  yer  honor,  av  ye  promise  to  take  myself  an'  the 
wife  an'  weans  out  i'  this  place,  to  where  we'll  have  some 
pace  an'  quateness ;  for  afther  turnin'  an'  spakin'  i'  them 
things,  my  life  wudn't  be  worth  a  scallion  while  I'd  remain 
here.  So  on  them  conditions  I  will,  av  you  agree  to 
them." 

"I  agree  willingly.  But  observe,  if  you  deceive  me,  I 
shall  have  you  sent  farther  away  than  you  might  desire  to 
go,  perhaps." 

"  It's  aizy  findin'  Neal  Crawmshaugh,  yer  honor ;  there's 
not  a  sowl  'ithin  the  walls  i'  the  parish  but  knows  him. 
Well,  av  he  disn't  come  when  you  send  for  him,  why,  there's 
no  harm  done,  an'  nobody  the  wiser.  Av  he  desaves  ye, 
luck,  an'  ye'll  fine  a  year's  arrears  due  on  the  book;  so  jist 
treat  him  then  as  he  desarves.  Will  that  plase  yer 
honor?" 

"  Very  good  ;  but  how  and  when  are  you  to  come  ?" 

"I  must  go  the  meetin'-house  in  a  covered  carriage  —  I 
wudn't  trust  myself  in  anything  else  —  and  stay  in  the 
carriage  till  the  minit  'am  awantin'.  You  know  'am  not 
able  to  walk,  yer  honor;  so  jist  send  the  sarvint  an'  coach 
to  Gortnotragh  in  the  evenin'  as  if  yer  honor's  self  was  in 
it  takin'  an  airin'.  I'll  be  on  the  watch,  an'  step  in  'ithout 
a  creathur  seein'  me." 

"  You  promise  me  faithfully  to  come  ?  " 

"As  shure  as  'am  to  meet  jidgment  I  will,  yer  honor; 
'am  longin'  as  much  to  expose  the  matther  as  yer  honor 
can  be.  So  now  let  me  down :  we'll  be  meetin'  people 
comin'  out  i'  the  village  that  might  have  my  life  afore  you'd 
have  my  secrets.  An'  luck,  yer  honor  —  av  iver  ye  min- 
tion  my  name  to  brathin'  mortial  till  the  time  comes,  yevll 


TEICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  239 

niver  ^ee  my  face  again.  Will  ye  promise  me  that,  yer 
honor  ?  " 

"  I  promise  you." 

"Well,  good  mornin',  yer  honor,  till  we  meet  again. 
'Am  ablidged  to  yer  honor  for  demanin'  yerself  so  much  as 
to  put  me  aside  ye." 

"  Stop  for  a  moment  "  (the  colonel  took  his  tablets)  ; 
"I  must  not  mistake  the  name.  Neala  —  I  don't  re 
member  —  " 

"  Neal  —  a  —  shin,  yer  honor." 


"Crawm  —  shaugh,  yer  honor.  There's  another  Neal, 
I  tould  you,  in  Gortnamonagh,  but  ye'll  write  Gortno- 
tragh." 

«Gort  —  what?" 

"  Gort  —  no  —  tragh,  yer  honor." 

"  Very  well,  Crawpshy,  that  will  do.     Good  morning." 

"  Good  mornin'  to  yer  honor,  an'  I  wish  ye  safe  home." 

The  old  man's  rheumatis  departed  with  the  colonel. 
He  flung  his  batta-more  over  the  ditch,  raised  his  shoulders, 
turned  the  rig  lit  side  of  his  coat  out,  adjusted  his  cravat, 
stepped  out  as  sprightly  as  a  Parisian  dancing-master,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  reached  the  village,  where  Shandy 
M'Guire  had  always  a  hearty  welcome. 

The  good  colonel  arrived  safely  at  the  Moor,  ate  a  sump 
tuous  dinner,  sipped  half  a  bottle  of  port,  and  drank  a 
tumbler  of  claret,  then  lay  down  to  take  a  short  siesta, 
endeavored  to  estimate,  in  a  general  way,  the  benefits 
which  the  Church  of  England  was  likely  to  derive  from 
his  labors  of  the  day;  then  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  and 
dreamt  of  Kathleen  Kennedy,  Father  Domnick,  Chili 
vinegar,  and  burnt  brandy. 


240  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OB 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

ELLEN  O'DONNELL  AND  SHANDY  M'GUIRE  APPEAR  AS  TWO 
VERY  DIFFERENT  CHARACTERS  IN  THE  DRAMA  OF 
IRISH  .LIFE. 

THE  clock  in  the  corner  of  Father  Domnick's  little  en 
trance-hall  had  struck  eleven.  The  housekeeper  and  her 
assistant  had  long  before  retired  to  rest.  The  night  was 
calm  and  clear.  The  young  moon,  like  a  virgin  bride,  had 
thrown  off  her  veil,  and  came  forth  with  her  hosts  of  bril 
liant  attendants  dancing  and  sparkling  around  her.  How 
beautiful  is  the  clear,  calm,  starry  night !  How  lovely  is 
the  pale  silvery  moon  —  so  placid  yet  so  bright,  so  brilliant 
and  yet  so  passionless !  We  sometimes  fancy,  as  we  gaze 
upon  it,  that  the  eye  of  God  may  be  like  that  serene,  pure, 
stainless  orb,  looking  down  on  his  regenerated  earth  to  see 
if  all  things  be  well  regulated  there ;  and  those  falling 
stars,  like  angels  whom  he  sends  down  laden  with  bless 
ings  and  glad  tidings  for  his  children. 

Darby  Gallaugher,  Father  Domnick's  old  clerk,  was 
alone  in  the  kitchen,  kneeling  before  a  crucifix.  His  beads 
were  suspended  from  his  left  hand,' whilst  his  right  rested 
on  the  head  of  his  staff.  The  lamp  was  extinguished,  and 
the  embers  in  the  fireplace  nearly  burnt  out,  so  that  it  was 
only  by  the  moonbeams  struggling  with  difficulty  through 
the  thick  curtains  of  the  window,  the  form  of  the  old  man 
could  be  distinguished  from  the  surrounding  darkness. 
He  was  praying  in  silence,  for  no  voice,  not  even  a  whis 
per,  could  be  heard  —  he  was  praying  from  the  heart,  like 
Anna,  the  mother  of  Samuel,  but  his  lips  moved  not. 


TRICKS   UPON    TRAVELLERS.  241 

It  is  now  many  a  long  year  since  I  first  saw  Darby  Gal- 
laugher,  the  priest's  clerk.  Many  a  pleasant  hour  have  I 
sat  at  ray  uncle's  kitchen  fire,  listening  to  his  stories  of  the 
old  times.  I  can  yet  remember  well  the  venerable  and 
respectable  face  of  the  old  man,  as  it  made  its  appearance 
almost  every  Sunday  evening  about  sunset  at  the  humble 

residence    of    my    uncle,    Jemmy   C ,   of   Killymard. 

Darby  was  even  then  advanced  in  years,  yet  still  hale  and 
healthy.  His  open,  simple,  good-natured  countenance 
forever  wore  the  expression  of  peace  and  contentment 
with  himself  and  all  mankind.  He  came  and  w^ent,  just 
as  he  pleased,  without  question  or  apology.  When  he 
entered,  it  was  "  God's  blissin'  on  ye  all  here,  young  an' 
ould  i'  yees ; "  and  when  he  left  on  the  Monday  following, 
he  would  first  pause  for  an  instant  on  the  threshold  (his 
ivory-headed  cane  under  his  arm),  while  he  drew  on  his 
woollen  mittens,  and  then  stepping  out,  would  invariably 
leave  the  good  word  behind  him,  "  God  be  with  ye,  Peggy, 
and  the  rest  i'  yees,  till  I  see  ye  again.  Make  the  childher 
be  larnin'  the  Christian  doctrine  till  I  come  back,  for  they 
are  big  enough  now  to  go  to  the  priest,  an'  av  they  larn 
hard  I'll  pass  them  the  nixt  time  he  comes  round  on  the 
station  ;  ay,  don't  forget  that,  Peggy."  On  these  occasions 
I  always  accompanied  Darby  down  the  green  lane  to  the 
high  road,  and  never  failed  to  obtain  a  blessing  for  myself 
specially,  and  a  promise  that  he  would  surely  call  again  on 
Sunday.  How  delighted  I  used  to  feel  when  the  old  man 
would  return  the  night  before  the  station  to  "  put  out  the 
catechism ! "  I  thought  then  the  highest  blessing  I  could 
obtain  on  earth  was  a  ticket  for  my  first  confession ;  and 
long  did  I  labor  to  earn  it.  Many  a  long  night  did  I  spend 
at  my  uncle's  turf  fire,  with  a  rushlight  burning  dimly  be 
fore  me  in  the  wooden  candlestick,  peering  into  Reilly's 
abridgment  of  Catholic  doctrine,  and  slimming  over  the 
hard  words  as  they  occasionally  turned  up  with  a  most 
magnanimous  disregard  for  all  rules  of  orthoepy.  When 
16 


242  SHANDY    M'GUIRE,    OE, 

I  received  my  admission-ticket  from  old  Darby,  I  remem 
ber  well  how  carefully  I  concealed  it  in  my  bosom,  and 
refused  to  let  my  playmates  see  it,  even  in  my  own  hand, 
lest  some  evil  should  befall  the  precious  gift ;  and  when  I 
returned  from  the  tribunal  of  confession,  how  I  ran  to 
my  aunt  and  told  her  what  Father  Domnick  directed  me 
to  do. 

"  Hush,"  she  would  say,  "  hush  asthore,  you  must  niver 
tell  what  the  priest  said  to  ye  in  confession." 

"  Well,  but,  aunty,  dear,  ye  know  the  fippenny  I  foun' 
last  week  ?  " 

"Well,  dear?" 

"  Shure  he  told  me  to  give  it  to  the  poor ;  so  you  must 
get  it  for  me  to  give  to  poor  Shelah,  the  creathur ;  she'll 
be  here  at  mass,  an'  I'll  give  it  to  her  to  buy  the  tabakky." 

I  often  wonder  how  these  old  "  memories  "  still  live  on, 
bright  and  cheering  amid  all  the  changes  that  are  daily 
passing  over  the  theatre  of  life.  How  pleasant  are  the 
thoughts  called  up  by  reminiscences  like  these !  Like 
evening  stars,  pale,  chaste,  and  cheerful,  they  beam  out 
again  over  the  eventide  of  life,  and  light  up  the  darkness 
of  years  with  a  ray  of  hope,  imparting  to  the  melancholy 
picture  of  human  sorrows  a  brightening  and  gladdening 
influence.  How  beautiful  is  the  springtime  of  religion  in 
the  soul,  when  it  begins  to  live  and  move  within,  softening 
down  the  little  asperities  of  nature,  and  bringing  out  into 
life  and  sunshine  the  sympathies  and  tender  sensibilities 
of  the  heart!  Reader,  have  you  ever  remarked  the  change 
that  takes  place  in  the  human  countenance  when  the  soul 
engaged  in  prayer  becomes  for  the  first  time  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  its  Creator,  and  of  the  relations  that  rea 
son  teaches  it  must  exist  between  its  Creator  and  itself? 
There  is  such  a  moment.  Remember  how  you  observed 
the  words  of  prayer,  issuing  from  the  lips  of  the  youthful 
worshipper,  to  be  emphasized  and  solemn,  that  before  were 
monotonous  and  insipid  ;  the  eye  become  serious,  steady, 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  243 

and  supplicant,  that  before  was  light,  restless,  and  un 
meaning;  how,  in  a  word,  the  whole  countenance  glowed 
with  life  and  emotion,  that  before  was  cold,  reckless,  and 
indifferent ;  and  tell  me,  with  such  a  picture  of  the  power 
of  innate  faith  before  us  —  the  picture  of  a  soul  offering 
itself  to  God  bright  and  beautiful  in  its  virginity  —  is  it 
not  strange  that  the  infidelity  of  this  age  can  find  so  many 
advocates?  But  I  must  not  wander.  No;  I  was  speak 
ing  of  old  Darby  —  the  very  thought  of  him  makes  me 
feel  better — something  like  what  I  used  to  be.  When  I 
look  back  through  the  long  vista  of  years,  and  behold"  far 
away  the  old  man  with  his  long  white  hair  falling  in  thin 
locks  over  his  shoulders,  his  venerable  face  radiant  from 
interior  peace  and  happiness,  his  left  hand  leaning  on  his 
ivory-headed  staff,  whilst  his  right  is  pressing  the  head  of 
each  boy  and  girl  successively,  as  they  stand  round  him  in 
a  circle  to  be  questioned  on  the  little  catechism,  I  think  I 
feel  changed  from  what  I  usually  am.  These  first  impres 
sions,  like  the  bright  happy  faces  that  gladdened  our  young 
days,  come  back  again,  after  a  long  absence,  to  renew  once 
more  the  springtime  of  religion  in  the  soul.  But  I  must 
not  digress.  No ;  digressions  are  seldom  read.  I  was 
only  thinking  over  the  old  times,  long  ago,  when  we  were 
wont  to  assemble  round  the  little  altar,  —  round  the  altar 
in  the  mountains,  Irish  reader,  raised  on  the  damp  earthen 
floor,  and  under  the  dripping  thatched  roof  of  our  fathers' 
cabins,  —  of  the  time  when  kneeling  before  it  we  forgot 
all  but  the  victim-  that  was  offered  thereon ;  when  our 
hearts,  full  to  bursting,  sought  comfort  and  hope  only  in 
the  excess  of  His  love,  when  the  tears  of  repentance  shed 
on  that  humble  floor  unseen  by  any  eye  but  that  of  the 
all-seeing  God,  fell  silently  as  on  the  feet  of  your  Re 
deemer,  like  drops  of  balm  on  the  wounds  of  the  crucified. 
Oh  !  give  me  back,  give  me  back  these  young  days  again ; 
give  me  back  the  thatched  cabin  and  the  damp  floor;  give 
me  back  the  old  priest  with  his  patched  vestments  and  his 


244  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

old  worn-out  plaited  chalice ;  give  me  back  the  religion  of 
the  mountains,  far  dearer  to  me  still  than  all  the  grandeur 
and  magnificence  of  the  cathedral,  where  worshippers 
kneel  before  the  jewelled  altar,  without  hearts  or  tears  to 
oifer  the  victim.  Reader,  have  you  ever  blushed  with 
shame  when  you  were  reminded  of  those  bygone  days  ? 
did  you  ever  silence  your  old  acquaintance,  when,  with  his 
wonted  familiarity,  he  ventured  to  speak  of  the  humble 
priest,  in  his  homely  language  instructing  his  little  congre 
gation  under  the  humble  roof  where  you  were  born  and 
baptized  in  the  faith  ?  If  you  did,  then  pass  over  this 
chapter,  for  it  has  no  interest  for  you. 

Father  Domnick  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  at  a  table 
placed  in  the  centre  of  his  study.  This  apartment  was 
about  fifteen  feet  square,  and  served  both  for  study  and 
dining-room.  The  wall  behind  where  he  sat  was  shelved 
from  corner  to  corner,  and  the  shelves  filled  with  books 
from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling.  The  ponderous  appearance 
of  the  volumes  on  the  lower  shelves,  and  the  parchment 
bindings  of  those  on  the  upper,  at  once  told  their  charac 
ter,  and  the  countries  whence  they  came.  Against  the 
opposite  wall,  between  the  windows,  and  supported  by  a 
wooden  pedestal,  was  a  bust  of  Leo  X.  by  Michael  Angelo, 
and  above  the  mantel  an  Infant  Jesus  by  Rubens,  said  to 
have  been  painted  by  that  eminent  artist  when  at  Madrid 
on  the  mission  intrusted  to  him  by  the  Infanta  Isabella. 
The  rest  of  the  furniture  of  the  room  was  of  the  common 
est  kind,  the  few  chairs  and  tables  it  contained  being  made 
chiefly  of  pine  or  ash,  and  the  floor  without  carpet,  if  we 
except  a  coarse  rug  of  four  or  five  feet  square,  that  lay 
spread  under  the  table  at  which  the  priest  was  sitting. 
On  the  table  lay  open  a  folio  volume  of  Pichler,  and  be 
side  it  a  Roman  Breviary,  covered  with  black  cloth  to 
preserve  the  binding.  His  arms  were  resting  on  the  table, 
supporting  his  body  in  his  usual  reading  posture.  The 
candle  had  now  burned  down,  and  was  flickering  in  the 


THICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  245 

socket ;  the  old  man's  spectacles  had  fallen  off,  and  lay  on 
the  open  book  before  him.  Father  Dornnick  was  asleep. 

When  Darby  had  concluded  his  night-prayer,  he  arose, 
and  taking  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  lighted  it,  and  silently  pro 
ceeded  to  the  private  door  opening  from  the  dwelling- 
house  into  the  old  church.  It  was  his  habit,  for  nearly 
half  a  century,  to  examine  the  interior  of  the  building, 
with  its  windows  and  doors,  every  night  before  he  retired 
to  rest.  As  he  stepped  over  the  threshold,  and  looked  up 
towards  the  altar,  he  was  surprised  to  see  a  light  in  that 
direction.  He  paused  for  an  instant  to  shade  the  lamp 
with  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  that  he  might  see  more  distinctly 
what  it  was.  On  the  altar,  and  immediately  before  the 
door  of  the  tabernacle,  a  light  was  burning,  and  prostrate 
on  the  platform,  a  female  wrapped  in  a  night-cloak.  Darby 
drew  back  in  astonishment;  he  never  remembered  to  have 
seen  a  stranger,  at  such  an  hour^  within  the  sanctuary, 
and  before  the  blessed  sacrament.  Retracing  his  steps,  he 
hastened,  with  as  little  noise  as  possible,  to  Father  Dom- 
nick's  room,  and  waking  him  from  his  slumbers,  acquainted 
him  with  what  he  had  seen.  The  priest  arose,  and  fol 
lowed  his  old  clerk  to  the  door  of  the  chapel. 

"Hush,"  whispered  the  priest,  pressing  Darby's  arm; 
"  let  us  not  disturb  her." 

"  But  who  can  she  be,"  said  Darby,  "  that  comes  to  visit 
the  blissed  sacrament  at  this  late  hour  ?  " 

"  Be  silent,"  said  the  priest. 

"Look,  sir  —  isn't  that  some  other  body  standin'  ahint 
the  pillar  ?  —  see  —  there,  don't  you  see  the  shadow  on 
the  floor  beyont  it  ?  " 

The  speakers  were  concealed  by  a  curtain  drawn  around 
the  vestibule  of  the  private  entrance. 

"  Hush,"  said  the  priest  again  ;  "  she's  rising." 

The  female  slowly  raised  herself  to  an  erect  attitude, 
her  hands  still  joined  in  humble  supplication.  The  cloak, 
which  till  that  moment  wrapped  the  whole  person,  now  fell 


246  SHANDY  M'GUIRE. 

off,  and  rolled  back  unheeded  on  the  steps  of  the  sanc 
tuary  ;  the  little  silver  lamp  on  the  altar  shed  its  rays  full 
on  her  face,  and  revealed  to  the  astonished  beholders  the 
beautiful  features  of  Ellen  O'Donnell. 

Her  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  door  of  the  tabernacle, 
within  which  the  body  of  her  Redeemer  lay,  were  beam 
ing  with  intense  love  —  a  love  so  profound,  mysterious, 
and  absorbing,  that  Titian  would  have  taken  her  at  the 
moment  for  a  model  of  Mary  Magdalen  at  the  sepulchre  of 
the  Saviour.  Her  cheeks,  usually  so  pale,  were  now  suf 
fused  with  a  blush,  which,  heightened  by  the  rays  from 
the  little  silver  lamp,  gave  a  glow  of  seraphic  radiance  to 
her  countenance  :  it  was  the  blush,  not  of  conscious  guilt 
before  infinite  sanctity,  but  of  maiden  modesty  before  the 
footstool  of  her  Sovereign.  And,  gentle  reader,  you  will 
ask,  "  Is  this  the  girl  whom  you  saw  but  a  short  time  ago 
bounding  wildly  as  an  Arab  maid  over  the  rugged  wall 
and  the  dangerous  precipice  ?  Is  this  the  proud  beauty 
who,  with  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  matron,  contemptuous 
ly  spurned  the  sympathy  the  Saxon  Cantwell  affected  to 
feel  for  her  religion  and  her  country  ?  "  Yes,  reader  —  the 
same.  Meek,  humble,  supplicant  as  a  child  before  the 
altar,  she  was  yet  too  honest  to  parade  a  mawkish  sancti 
mony  before  the  eyes  of  men.  She  worshipped  God,  not 
with  the  funereal  dress,  the  stealthy  step,  the  demure  face, 
the  puritanic  phraseology,  or  the  saintly  bearing  of  the 
hypocrite ;  but  with  her  whole  heart,  in  sincerity  and 
truth.  She  felt  too  great  a  reverence  —  made  too  lordly 
an  estimate  of  the  sublime  religion  she  professed  —  to 
stoop  to  the  tricks  and  jugglery  of  the  sects  to  advance  its 
interests ;  or  —  as  we  have  already  seen  —  when  the 
rights  and  claims  of  her  unhappy  country  came  up  for  dis 
cussion,  she  did  not  think  it  more  consonant  with  true 
piety  and  humble  trustfulness  in  Providence,  to  whimper, 
and  whine,  and  wait  for  the  moment  of  mercy  at  the 
tyrant's  feet,  than  boldly  to  advance  to  the  throne,  and 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  247 

demand  a  settlement  of  the  account.  In  a  word,  reader, 
as  a  Catholic,  she  was  gay,  cheerful,  and  happy ;  as  an 
Irishwoman,  impulsive  and  enthusiastic  ;  as  both  together, 
inheriting  as  she  did  the  oldest  faith  in  Christendom,  and 
the  oldest  royal  blood  in  the  universe,  she  was  what  you 
see  her  —  a  proud  worshipper  at  a  humble  altar.  Oh,  that 
the  present  hour  would  give  us  men  filled  with  hearts  and 
souls  like  hers,  —  that  we  might  see  the  young  men  of  this 
land  rise  from  the  feet  of  the  Saviour  inflamed  with  zeal 
and  devotion  to  their  old  faith  and  their  old  country,  to  do 
battle,  not  with  the  fire  or  the  sword,  but  with  the  manly 
daring  of  proud  indignant  hearts  united  in  the  bonds  of 
Spartan  brotherhood !  Oh,  that  we  might  see  the  young 
men  of  Ireland  give  a  new  voice,  and  tone,  and  energy  to 
the  sinking  spirit  of  the  land,  —  that  they  were  bold  enough 
to  think,  and  speak,  and  act  like  free-born  men,  —  that  we 
could  see  them  collar  the  "  gluttonous  despot,"  and  hold 
her  down  by  the  neck  till  she  snuffed  and  sickened  over 
the  blood  she  spilt  on  their  soil,  and  that  now  steams  up 
in  the  face  of  heaven  like  the  incense  of  ten  thousand 
hecatombs  !  But  no,  and  alas  !  patience,  patience,  is  still 
the  cry  —  patience  is  still  the  only  sound  that  issues  from 
the  tribune  and  the  pulpit.  The  selfish  demagogue  and 
the  pious  ecclesiastic  have  so  long  wailed  their  "  patience 
chant "  over  desolate  shrines  and  beggared  worshippers, 
that  even  now,  when  the  worshippers  are  rotting,  and  the 
shrines  are  plague-pits,  they  cannot  stop  the  tune,  but  cry 
on,  till  men  are  forced  to  put  their  fingers  in  their  ears  to 
keep  out  the  sickening  drone.  And  these  are  the  patriots, 
the  benefactors,  the  saviours  of  the  nation  !  They  are  the 
evangelizers  of  heaven-born  peace.  They  come  with  the 
voices  of  angels  to  soothe  down  the  indignant  heart,  —  to 
teach  men  to  die  of  famine  for  the  love  of  God  and  the  in 
terests  of  their  country,  —  to  hush  them  into  silence  and 
resignation  to  their  fate,  when  they  appeal  to  them  in  the 
name  of  a  merciful  God,  for  succor  and  counsel  in  their 


248  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

hour  of  distress.  They  teach  them  to  die  with  the  grace 
fulness  of  a  Christian,  —  "  to  place  themselves  before  the 
mirror,  and  make  the  stream  of  agony  to  flow  decorously 
down  their  foreheads,  —  to  writhe  with  grace  and  groan 
with  melody."  And  this  is  patriotism !  Out  upon  it ! 
No  honest  man  should  speak  it ;  it  sounds  like  traitor  to 
the  heart,  when  the  tongue  gives  it  utterance.  In  after 
years,  when  history  "  damns  a  man  to  everlasting  fame," 
it  shall  not  call  him  sycophant,  hypocrite,  slave,  and 
traitor;  but  summing  up  all  in  one  word,  shall  write 
him  down  Patriot ! 

"  Listen,"  said  the  priest ;  "  she's  praying  —  listen." 
"  And  now,  oh  my  God,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  long  silence, 
and  in  a  low  whispering  voice,  yet  plain  and  distinct  in 
the  solemn  stillness  of  the  calm  night,  in  the  lonely,  deso 
late  old  church  — "  now,"  she  said,  crossing  her  hands 
upon  her  breast,  "  I  have  opened  before  you  the  inmost 
recesses  of  my  heart.  I  have  stolen  out  in  this  dead  hour 
of  night,  that  no  eye  might  see  me  but  thine,  to  unbosom 
before  you  all  my  thoughts,  sentiments,  and  affections.  I 
have  even  presumed  to  come  within  the  sanctuary,  that  I 
might  be  nearer  to  catch  the  breath  of  thy  love  and  the 
odor  of  thy  sanctity.  He  has  asked  me  to  give  him  this 
hand  and  heart  —  ay,  even  by  thy  love  has  he  invoked 
me.  And  I  love  him,  oh  my  God !  I  love  him  with  an 
affection  only  inferior  to  my  love  of  thee.  He  has  prom 
ised  to  embrace  our  holy  religion,  and  guard  the  interests 
of  this  wretched  land.  Pie  is  noble  and  generous,  like  the 
ancient  race  from  which  he  descends ;  and  requires  but 
thy  light  and  grace  to  bring  him  back  to  thy  banner,  to 
battle  for  the  ancient  faith,  and  the  rights  of  thy  suffering 
but  still  faithful  people.  Lord,  thou  knowest  best  his 
heart ;  speak,  then,  to  mine,  and  tell  me,  will  he  perform 
his  promise  ?  Tell  me,  Lord,  is  he  prepared  to  sacrifice 
his  life  for  my  religion  and  my  country  ?  If  not,  I  shall 
never  see  him  more  —  never  —  should  these  heart-strings 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  249 

break  in  the  parting.  Rather  would  I  feel  this  heart 
within  me  wither  day  by  day,  in  the  darkest  dungeon  of 
this  old  ruin  beside  me,  through  the  longest  span  of  human 
life,  than  bestow  it  on  the  enemy  of  my  creed  or  my  race. 
Be  thou  in  this,  as  in  all  else,  my  director  and  my  guide ; 
leave  me  not  to  be  governed  by  the  impulse  of  a  weak  and 
wayward  spirit.  Thou  knowest  I  am  but  an  orphan  here 
—  a  stranger  on  my  own  native  soil  — the  last  green  twig 
in  the  garden  ;  all  the  rest  are  cut  down  and  withered. 
If  it  be  thy  will  it  should  flourish,  oh !  let  it  bring  forth 
the  flowers  and  fruit  that  so  long  graced  the  parent  stock  ; 
or  let  it  fall  barren  and  sapless,  like  the  broken  reed. 
Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  servant  heareth ;  speak  to  my  heart, 
and  tell  me,  will  he  fulfil  his  promise  ?  " 

"In  the  face  of  death,"  said  a  voice,  deep,  mellow,  and 
distinct,  from  a  remote  corner  of  the  church,  and  the  next 
instant  Captain  O'Brien  appeared  walking  up  with  a  firm 
and  steady  step  towards  the  altar,  his  arms  crossed  on  his 
breast,  and  his  sword  clanking  on  the  stone  pavement  as 
he  went. 

Ellen  uttered  a  scream  of  surprise  not  unmixed  with 
fear ;  but  turning  to  look  in  the  direction  whence  the 
voice  proceeded,  she  recognized  O'Brien. 

"  Captain  O'Brien,"  she  said,  rising  and  stepping  with 
out  the  railing  of  the  sanctuary,  "  I  did  not  expect  this 
from  you  ;  it  is  ungenerous,  and  —  " 

"  Peace,  Ellen,"  said  another  voice,  issuing  from  the  lit 
tle  vestibule. 

"  Ellen,"  she  repeated  ;  "  who  with  such  familiarity  calls 
me  Ellen?" 

"  One  who  claims  a  right  to  do  so,"  and  Father  Dom- 
nick,  accompanied  by  his  old  clerk,  approached  the  altar. 

At  that  moment  the  front  door  of  the  church  was  burst 
open,  and  an  officer  of  police,  with  a  party  of  eight  or  ten 
men,  rushed  in.  Father  Domnick  took  Ellen  by  the  hand 
and  led  her  hastily  to  the  private  door ;  hardly  had  she 


250  SHANDY  M'GUERE,   OB 

passed  in  and  secured  it  by  the  bolt  as  he  directed  her, 
when  the  officer  was  at  his  side,  and  demanded  admission 
in  the  king's  name. 

"None  shall  I  give  you,"  replied  the  priest;  "this  is 
God's  house,  and  I  recognize  here  no  authority  but  His." 

"  The  house  of  the  devil,"  said  the  man ;  "  open,  or  I 
shall  order  my  men  to  break  it." 

"  Back,  back,  cowardly  villain  ! "  cried  O'Brien,  collar 
ing  the  officer,  who  had  then  raised  his  sword  to  drive  the 
priest  from  the  entrance,  and  flinging  him  with  terrible 
force  against  a  pillar  behind  him ;  "  back,  coward,  and  in 
sult  not  an  old  man." 

•  O'Brien  then  turned  his  back  to  the  little  door,  leaning 
upon  his  naked  sword,  and  apparently  as  much  at  ease  as 
if  he  had  been  giving  orders  to  his  own  troop  on  parade. 
The  police  stood  round  in  a  circle,  with  bayonets  on  their 
carabines,  ready  to  execute  the  orders  of  their  superior, 
and  keeping  their  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  two  prisoners. 

When  the  officer  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  stun 
ning  fall  against  the  pillar,  he  ordered  his  men  to  handcuff 
the  priest  and  O'Brien,  at  all  hazards,  and  then  force  the 
door  to  find  the  lady. 

"For  God's  sake!"  cried  the  priest,  "spill  no  blood 
here  to  desecrate  the  temple  ;  we  have  violated  no  law." 

"  It's  false,"  interrupted  the  officer ;  "  you  have  married 
that  mongrel  Protestant  beside  you  to  the  Papist  girl  who 
escaped." 

"  I  take  God  to  witness,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  am  guilt 
less  of  the  charge." 

"  Hear  me,"  said  O'Brien  ;  "  I  love  not  the  spilling  of 
blood  under  any  pretence,  not  even  that  of  an  honorable 
man  and  in  honorable  fight,  much  less  surely  that  of  a  spy, 
an  assassin,  and  a  coward,  and  least  of  all  in  the  temple  of 
the  God  of  peace  and  charity.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  not 
leave  this  entrance  unguarded,  while  I  have  strength  to 
stand  and  use  this  blade.  The  lady  within  I  shall  protect 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  251 

with  my  life.  We  have  violated  no  law ;  even  if  we  did, 
you  know  the  parties,  and  can  easily  find  them  on  the 
morrow." 

While  O'Brien  spoke,  a  thundering  knock  was  heard  at 
the  front  door  of  the  priest's  house,  and  the  officer  de. 
spatched  one  of  his  men  to  inquire  the  cause.  The  mes 
senger  did  not  return. 

In  the  mean  time  the  police  officer  directed  the  rest  of 
his  men  to  close  with  O'Brien,  and  they  accordingly  pre 
sented  their  bayonets  to  his  breast,  and  would  probably 
have  ended  in  taking  his  life,  but  the  bolt  was  suddenly 
drawn  back,  and  the  door  flew  open.  Then  an  arm  was 
stretched  out  from  the  doorway,  and  Father  Domnick  was 
pulled  into  the  dark  entrance. 

"  Fall  back,  captain,"  said  a  well-known  voice  within. 

"  Shandy  M' ,"  ejaculated  the  priest. 

"  Hush,  Father  Domnick,  not  a  word  more  ;  get  in  here 
and  speak  to  the  young  lady." 

Captain  O'Brien  retreated  till  he  reached  the  door  of 
the  priest's  study,  when  it  opened  again,  and  he  found 
himself  locked  in,  and  the  presence  of  Ellen  and  the 
priest. 

"  Lights,  lights,  men !  "  vociferated  the  officer ;  "  strike  a 
light,  some  of  you ;  we  can  see  nothing  here." 

"Hilloa,"  cried  another  of  the  party,  "bring  in  that  lamp 
on  the  altar;  one  of  you  at  the  door  there  behind  —  d'ye 
hear?" 

Some  one  turned  to  execute  the  order,  but  the  door  was 
locked  and  bolted.  "  Break  it  open,  instantly,"  shouted 
the  officer ;  "  don't  leave  a  board  of  it  unbroken."  "  Aisy, 
aisy  avourneen,"  said  a  voice  in  reply;  "don't  be  in  sich  a 
passion  for  a  thrifle."  Ere  the  officer  could  turn  round,  the 
speaker  had  gagged  him  and  pinioned  his  arms  behind 
his  back.  "  There,  now,  avourneen,"  he  continued,  whisper 
ing  the  words  in  his  ear,  "  don't  be  spoilin'  yer  purty 
voice  spakin'  so  loud ;  this  handkerchief  '11  keep  the 


252  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

cowld  air  from  giving  ye  a  hoarseness  in  the  throat; 
too  much  i'  that  same  spakin's  good  for  naither  sowl  nor 
body." 

Whilst  the  officer  was  being  quieted  in  the  manner  de 
scribed,  the  men  who  had  turned  to  break  the  door,  found 
the  bayonets  were  removed  from  their  carabines,  and 
placed  so  disagreeably  close  to  their  breasts,  that  a  for 
ward  motion  of  their  bodies  would  bring  them  nearer 
death's  door  than  the  church's.  So  they  turned  round  in 
the  opposite  direction,  acquainting  their  officer  of  the  state 
of  the  case,  but  were  much  surprised  to  find  how  calmly 
and  silently  he  received  the  intelligence.  We  must  look 
after  Shandy. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  our  hero,  after  parting 
with  Colonel  Templeton,  made  his  way  to  the  village,  where 
he  resolved  to  spend  the  night.  His  object  was  to  consult 
his  friends  and  acquaintances  as  to  the  best  and  speediest 
means  of  liberating  Frank  Devlin.  There  was  little  time 
to  be  lost,  for  on  that  very  morning  he  ascertained  from  a 
sure  source,  that  Coulson,  the  bailiff,  had  discovered  the 
whereabouts  of  Dowser,  and  probably  ere  another  day  had 
passed,  would  rescue  him,  and  perhaps  capture  the  party 
who  had  him  in  keeping;  then  Devlin  would  certainly 
be  committed  to  Lifford  jail,  and  be  kept  there  till  the 
following  September  assizes ;  for,  as  the  reader  is  already 
aware,  it  was  only  through  the  dread  of  the  murder  of 
Dowser  by  the  friends  of  young  Devlin,  that  he  had  not 
been  sent  to  Lifford  immediately  after  his  arrest. 

Shandy,  with  some  half  score  of  his  trusty  brethren, 
were  seated  round  a  fire,  smoking  their  pipes,  and  devis 
ing  their  plans;  some  advising  an  assault  on  the  prison, 
others,  more  cautious,  recommending  easier  and  surer 
schemes  to  overreach  the  keeper,  who  happened  for  the 
time  to  be  the  sergeant  of  police.  Shandy  spoke  little  and 
thought  less  of  what  his  companions  were  submitting  for 
consideration  to  his  superior  genius  and  experience.  In- 


THICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  253 

deed  he  never  dreamt  of  taking  any  advice  but  his  own, 
and  when  he  called  his  council  around  him,  it  was  not  to 
hear  their  opinions,  but  to  make  some  necessary  inquiries 
about  the  strength  and  accessibility  of  the  prison,  the  char 
acter  and  disposition  of  the  keeper  and  his  men,  and  then 
deliver  his  ukase  without  ever  imagining  the  possibility 
of  dissent.  But  on  this  occasion,  and  after  all  his  inquiries, 
Shandy  found  his  talent  for  intrigue  put  to  a  very  severe 
trial ;  so  much  so  that  he  was  about  to  make  the  most 
humiliating  avowal  of  his  life,  namely,  that  the  matter  was 
too  difficult  for  even  him  to  accomplish,  when  Darby  Gal- 
laugher,  the  priest's  clerk,  was  heard  at  the  door  shouting 
for  admittance. 

"Run,  run,  Neddy  Harly,"  cried  the  old  man,  almost 
breathless  from  haste  and  the  weight  of  years,  as  the  door 
opened  ;  "  run  to  the  sogers'  barrack,  an'  tell  them  the  cap 
tain,  an'  the  priest,  an'  Miss  O'Donnell,  an'  every  one  of  us 
'ill  be  kilt  by  the  police  av  they  don't  hurry  down ;  run  for 
yer  life,  or  they's  be  murthered." 

"  Aisy,  Darby,  an'  don't  be  in  sich  a  pucker,"  said  Shandy, 
starting  to  his  feet  and  taking  the  clerk  by  the  arm ;  "  let 
us  hear  all  about  it,  man,  an'  then  we'll  be  a  better  jidge 
of  what's  to  be  done.  Stop,  Neddy,  till  we  hear  the 
story."  ^ 

Darby,  with  many  expressions  of  anger  and  impatience 
at  the  strange  indifference  Shandy  M'Guire  manifested  to 
the  danger  in  which  Father  Domnick  was  placed,  never 
theless  gave  a  very  correct,  though  brief  statement  of  the 
case. 

"  Very  well,  Darby,  I  see  now  how  the  matter  stands," 
replied  Shandy ;  "  ye  needn't  mind  the  sodgers,  Neddy," 
he  added  ;  "  we'll  sarve  this  turn  ourselves.  Come,  boys, 
to  the  chapel  with  ye;"  and  our  hero,  putting  his  pipe  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  hurried  on  before  them,  and  arrived 
at  the  place  just  as  Captain  O'Brien  had  taken  his  position 
before  the  private  door,  to  bar  the  pursuit  of  Ellen  O'Don 
nell. 


254  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,    OK 

When  the  sergeant  ran  out  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the 
knocking  at  Father  Domnick's  hall  door,  Shandy  was  still 
thundering  away  at  a  furious  rate,  his  companions  stand 
ing  about  him  and  impatient  for  admittance. 

"  Hilloa,"  vociferated  the  sergeant,  "  here's  a  mob  at 
the  door ; "  and  turning  back,  he  attempted  to  regain 
the  church,  in  order  to  obtain  a  re-enforcement  from 
within,  but  Shandy's  quick  eye  caught  the  tinsel  stripes 
on  his  arm,  just  then  glittering  in  the  clear  moonlight, 
and  rapid  as  thought  a  new  plan  was  arranged  in  his 
mind. 

"Ketch  him,  boys  —  ketch  him,"  he  cried;  "  hould  him 
fast  for  yer  lives."  In  another  minute  the  sergeant  was  a 
prisoner. 

"  Here,  now,  two  av  ye,"  he  continued,  in  an  under-tone 
—  "  pit  a  spenchel  *  on  his  tongue,  an'  anither  on  his  arms, 
jist  to  keep  them  from  waggin'  about  in  that  oncivil  fash 
ion.  We  must  tache  him  the  haybrew" 

The  sergeant  struggled  hard,  but  the  orders,  notwith 
standing,  were  executed  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  A 
handkerchief  was  then  tied  over  his  eyes. 

When  the  prisoner  was  secured,  Shandy  looked  round 
the  group  that  encircled  the  prostrate  sergeant  (and  by 
which  not  a  syllable  was  uttered  during  the  struggle),  as  if 
in  search  of  a  choice  spirit  among  them,  to  aid  him  in  the 
accomplishment  of  his  design. 

"  Come  here,  Pether  Hanagan,"  said  he  at  length,  ad 
dressing  a  stalwart  young  fellow,  who  was  pinning  up  his 
shirt  collar,  after  having  stripped  it  of  the  cravat  to  blind 
fold  the  prisoner.  "  Come  here,"  said  he,  speaking  in  an 
under-tone;  "yer  a  stranger,  and  yer  face  is  not  so  well 
known  as  this  one  V  mine — jist  try  now  af  the  sergeant 
has  iver  a  key  to  spare  in  his  pockets." 

Hanagan  took  a  large  key  from  the  breast-pocket  of 

*  A  fetter  to  prevent  cows  or  horses  from  leaping  fences. 


THICKS   UPON   TEAVELLEKS.  255 

the  sergeant's  well-buttoned  jacket,  and  handed  it  to 
Shandy. 

Shandy  examined  the  key  for  an  instant,  turning  it  up 
and  down,  that  he  might  catch  the  reflection  of  the  moon 
upon  it. 

"  That's  it,"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  I  know  it  av  ould  — 
it's  not  the-day  nor  yisterday  we  become  acquent.  Here, 
Pether,  there's  not  a  sowl  in  the  barracks,  or  this  piece 
av  iron  wudn't  be  had  so  aisy ;  take  it,  an'  run  as  fast 
as  av  yer  neck  was  on  the  race.  Open  the  front  doore 
i'  the  prison,  turn  into  the  sergeant's  room  on  the  left, 
an'  ye'll  get  the  key  av  Frank's  cell  on  the  nail  ahint 
the  doore ;  then  folli  on  the  hall  through  an'  through,  ti' 
ye  come  to  the  end  av  it.  Rap  there,  an'  if  Frank's 
livin',  he'll  hear  an'  answer  ye.  Open,  and  tell  him,  av 
he's  not  afeerd  i'  takin'  the  rheumatis  this  cowld  night, 
that  we'd  lake  to  spake  to  him  a  thrifle.  Run,  now,  for 
yer  life." 

"An'  will  I  let  out  Hudy  M'Gettigan  too  ?  "  demanded 
Hanagan. 

"  Away,  man,"  reiterated  Shandy,  pushing  the  messenger 
before  him,  "and  do  only  what  yer  bid.  Hudy's  safe  enough 
—  never  mind  him  —  away,  and  make  haste  back  again." 
He  then  turned  to  give  further  directions  to  his  compan 
ions. 

The  time  occupied  in  securing  the  sergeant  could  not 
have  exceeded  two  minutes,  though  it  requires  double  the 
number  to  relate  the  circumstance  ;  for  Darby  had  merely 
time  to  raise  the  kitchen  window,  creep  in,  and  open  the 
door  from  the  inside,  when  Shandy,  having  dismissed  Han 
agan,  and  placed  a  sentinel  over  the  sergeant,  entered  the 
priest's  house,  and  began  to  act  "his  part  as  we  have  al 
ready  described.  His  design  was  to  detain  the  police,  at 
every  risk  to  himself  and  his  party,  until  the  messenger 
returned  with  Devlin ;  and  his  quick  perception  at  once 
showed  him  how  easy  that  was  to  manage,  if  he  could 


256  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

but  draw  them  into  the  dark  passage.  The  retreat  of 
Captain  O'Brien,  as  we  have  seen,  answered  that  purpose 
admirably. 

The  imprisonment  of  the  police  had  lasted  scarcely  ten 
minutes  (during  which  there  was  little  to  be  heard  but 
curses  and  imprecations  of  all  possible  shades  of  intensity, 
on  papists  and  Ribbonmen,  priests  and  priestcraft,  with  a 
few  screams  intermingled  from  time  to  time,  as  the  bayo 
nets  scraped  too  intimate  an  acquaintance  with  the  sides 
of  their  owners),  when  a  knock  loud  and  rapid  was  heard 
on  the  outside,  accompanied  by  a  cheer.  Then  the  doors 
flew  open,  and  the  rescuing  party,  who  had  taken  care  to  oc 
cupy  the  two  extremities  of  the  hall,  rushed  out  simultane 
ously  in  both  directions,  the  bayonets  still  gleaming  in  their 
hands.  When  they  reached  the  open  street,  they  sent 
back  a  cheer  so  loud,  long,  and  triumphant,  that  the  old 
church  rang  out  again  its  thanks  and  congratulations,  and 
the  watch-dogs  of  the  village,  roused  from  their  lairs  by 
the  sudden  and  unusual  noise,  joined  in  with  a  continuous 
howl,  as  the  party  ran  on,  and  the  flagged  pavement  rattled 
under  their  feet. 

This  chapter  is  already  too  long ;  we  shall  therefore  de 
tain  the  reader  only  to  inform  him  that,  whilst  the  police 
party  in  the  dark  passage  were  heaping  sundry  heavy  curses 
on  the  priest,  the  captain,  and  the  lady  in  the  little  parlor, 
the  latter  personages  were  pleasantly  engaged  in  account 
ing  to  each  other  for  the  strange  coincidence  of  their  meet 
ing  at  the  same  time  in  the  old  church  ;  and,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  in  making  arrangements  for  soon  meeting 
there  again  ;  and  furthermore,  to  assure  the  reader  that  the 
police  officer,  after  being  released  from  his  chains  and  cap 
tivity,  had  cooled  down  wonderfully  from  the  high  Orange- 
heat  he  had  manifested  but  half  an  hour  before,  and  final 
ly  came  to  the  wise,  sober  conclusion,  that,  all  things  con 
sidered,  it  were  better  to  let  things  remain  as  they  were, 
and  when  the  morrow  came,  to  report  the  case  fully  and 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  257 

leisurely  to  the  magistrate.  He  accordingly  proceeded 
home,  after  liberating  the  sergeant,  and  like  a  prudent  man 
retired  to  rest,  fully  persuaded  that  his  design  was  frus 
trated  not  by  the  ingenuity  of  man,  but  by  the  mysterious 
agency  of  priestcraft  and  popery. 
17 


258  SHANDY   M'GUIBE,    OR 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS. 

As  soon  as  the  police  had  quitted  Father  Domnick's, 
O'Brien  conducted  Ellen  to  a  little  postern-gate  opening 
into  General  Johnston's  garden,  through  which  she  had 
found  her  way  that  night  to  the  old  church.  Having  ta 
ken  his  leave,  he  returned  to  consult  his  old  friend  on 
certain  points  which  interested  him  very  much. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  subject  of  conversation, 
it  certainly  caused  a  strong  evidence  of  excitement  to 
appear  in  the  countenance  of  the  priest ;  for  instead  of  the 
quiet  smile  that  usually  overspread  his  face  when  convers 
ing  with  his  friends,  there  was  now  a  stern  expression  to 
be  seen,  darkening  more  and  more  every  instant,  like  the 
breeze's  rising  breath  rippling  the  surface  of  the  still 
water.  His  head  was  supported  by  the  left  arm  leaning 
on  the  table,  whilst  the  fore-finger  of  the  right  hand  kept 
twirling  his  silver  snuff-box  round  and  round,  quicker  and 
quicker,  as  O'Brien's  speech  and  bearing  grew  more  ani 
mated,  till  the  old  man  at  length  broke  forth  in  a  tone  so 
deep,  so  severe,  and  yet  so  plaintive,  that  O'Brien  was 
sensibly  affected. 

"Slavery  —  slavery!  thou  art  hard  to  bear,"  he  said, 
speaking  rather  to  himself  than  his  companion ;  "  hard  to 
him  at  least  whose  blood  has  been  transmitted  him  through 
the  veins  of  a  hundred  kings.  Yet  I  could  bear  it  —  ay, 
indeed,  I  could  bear  it  without  a  murmur,  in  the  dungeon 
or  the  exile,  if  it  were  but  granted  me,  before  my  dying 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  259 

hour,  to  hear  that  this  old  land  was  free.  But  alas !  it 
shall  not  be  so  !  for  my  time  is  but  short  —  far  too  short 
for  the  accomplishment  of  such  a  glorious  event.  You, 
Feargus,"  —  and  the  speaker  raised  his  eyes  till  they  en 
countered  those  of  his  companion  fixed  upon  him,  and 
beaming  with  the  intensity  of  passionate  thought,  —  "  you 
may  live  to  see  it  —  perhaps  to  take  a  lead  in  the  great 
work.  You  are  now  intoxicated  with  the  glory  of  your 
profession.  Impelled  and  hurried  on  by  the  enthusiasm 
of  your  race,  you  fly  to  the  battle-field  without  reflecting 
in  whose  cause  or  for  whose  aggrandizement  you  fight ; 
but  a  day  will  corne  yet,  when  your  eyes  shall  see  and 
your  heart  shall  feel  the  tyranny,  and  the  shame  and  the 
indignities  which  this  land  has  been  made  to  endure." 

"  It  has  come,"  cried  the  young  soldier,  rising  suddenly 
from  the  chair  and  pacing  the  apartment,  with  his  arms 
folded  on  his  breast,  his  long  hair  falling  in  rich,  dark 
locks  over  his  high,  broad  temples,  and  his  princely  coun 
tenance  speaking  forth  the  passion  that  agitated  his  soul. 
"  It  has  come,  sir ;  never  more  shall  I  wear  the  livery  of 
England.  True,  sir,  you  have  said  it,  the  glory  of  her 
achievements  abroad  has  hitherto  blinded  me  to  her  re 
lentless  tyranny  at  home.  Taught,  as  I  have  been  from 
my  childhood,  to  despise  my  native  land  because  it  was 
Catholic,  and  to  ambition  the  high  military  honors  of  my 
ancestors,  some  of  whom  derived  their  greatest  honors 
from  the  seventies  they  practised  upon  men  of  your  very 
order,  no  wonder  that  in  the  bustle  of  the  camp  and  the 
court,  I  should  be  regardless  of  the  miseries  of  this  un 
happy  country.  But  now  and  at  last  I  am  roused  from 
the  deceitful  dream.  Now  I  am  alive  to  the  stern  reality. 
I,  whose  noble  lineage  was  respected  abroad,  am  at  home 
reduced  below  the  rank  of  the  minions  of  Cromwell  or 
William.  Ay,  standing  on  my  own  soil,  where  my  foot 
should  tread  firmer,  and  my  arm  feel  stronger,  and  my 
blood  mount  higher,  from  the  very  thought  that  it  was 


260  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OK 

my  own  —  ay,  here,  sir,  I  am  made  to  regard  myself  as  an 
obscure  stranger,  breathing  the  free  air  of  my  own  native 
mountains  less  by  right  than  by  sufferance.  God  of  heav 
en  ! "  he  continued,  quickening  his  pace,  and  speaking  with 
increased  animation,  u  you  never  gave  me  this  proud  blood 
that  boils  within  me  to  stagnate  at  the  feet  of  a  foreign 
despot.  You  never  willed  that  I  should  bow  down  and 
kiss  the  hand  that  now  scourges  the  children  of  this  land, 
who  call  me  'brother.'  Shall  alien  upstarts  smile  contemp 
tuously  at  my  Irish  birth,  and  that,  too,  here  —  here,  at  my 
very  door,  almost  on  the  spot  where  I  was  born  ?  Shall 
the  little  lordlings  of  an  hour,  —  the  purchased  tools  of  a 
suicidal  minister,  whom  he  used  as  he  would  pawns  in  a 
chess-game,  —  the  venders  of  our  country's  rights,  —  shall 
they  be  permitted  to  treat  us  here  like  whipped  spaniels, 
on  the  very  land  that  bore  us,  and  yet  no  remonstrance 
from  our  lips  ?  Oh,  that  we  could  unite  once  more,  —  that 
Catholic  and  Protestant  would  join  hands  like  brothers, 
in  truth  and  honest  fealty,  —  that,  forgetting  all  sectarian 
animosity,  we  could  walk  up  to  the  throne,  and  there, 
unawed  by  fear  and  untrammelled  by  favors,  confront  the 
despot,  and  boldly  demand  the  restitution  of  our  long  lost 
rights ! " 

The  priest  raised  his  head,  and  gazed  in  astonishment  at 
the  speaker. 

"  You  think  it  strange,  Father,"  he  continued,  replying 
to  the  question  conveyed  so  clearly  in  the  old  man's  look. 
"  You  think  it  strange  I  should  speak  thus  ;  but  you  mis 
take  me.  It  is  not  from  the  impulse  of  the  moment  I 
speak.  No,  no  —  for  some  time  these  have  been  my 
thoughts;  it  is  now  for  the  first  time  I  have  given  them 
utterance.  I  have  long  struggled  to  keep  back  the  indig 
nant  thoughts  that  burned  to  find  freedom  in  speech,  and 
which  every  new  injury  and  insult  accumulated.  I  have 
long  tried  to  keep  my  natural  feelings  in  abeyance, 
and  with  difficulty  I  succeeded ;  but  the  outrage  of  last 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  261 

night  has  put  an  end  to  the  struggle.  I  dream  no  more 
of  the  advent  of  better  times.  I  leave  it  no  longer  to 
Providence  to  work  miracles  in  softening  the  hearts  of  our 
rulers.  No  —  God  wills  that  our  own  free  speech  and  our 
own  native  independent  spirit  shall  win  our  freedom. 
Surrounded  as  I  have  been  from  my  boyhood,  by  friends 
and  relatives  as  dear  to  me  as  life,  I  felt  it  hard  to  break 
from  them,  and  all  the  old  associations  with  which  mem 
ory  had  bound  them  up.  It  was  hard  to  bring  myself  to 
regard  them  as  foes  to  my  political  creed,  and  enemies  to 
iny  country's  weal.  It  was  hard  to  do  it  —  but  it's  done. 
4  Country  before  friends  ^ind  God  before  all,'  is  an  old  and 
a  true  saying,  and  shall  henceforth  be  my  motto.  My 
spirit  long  fretted  and  chafed  under  the  daily  provocations 
which  I,  in  common  with  my  countrymen,  have  borne ; 
but  that  endurance  has  ended :  tyranny,  and  outrage,  and 
insult,  heaped  upon  one  another,  have  at  length  crushed 
it  out  of  my  heart,  and  now  a  nobler,  sterner  feeling  has 
come  to  occupy  its  place.  Ay,  even  the  black  slaves  of 
the  south  will  not  always  suffer  with  patience  the  whip 
and  the  triangle ;  Ihere  is  a  measure  of  severity  which 
even  they  cannot  bear,  but  will  turn  with  a  fearful  ven 
geance  on  the  slave-master.  Slaves  of  a  proscribed  and 
beggared  race,  we  have  still  some  remnant  of  our  former 
fires :  the  lights  are  extinguished,  but  the  embers  still  re 
main  —  yes,  enough,  old  man,  to  rekindle  in  the  hearts  of 
millions  an  unquenchable  flame." 

The  priest  started. 

"Feargus,"  he  ejaculated,  "  this  is  treason  !  What,  im 
brue  your  hands  —  " 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  his  companion  quickly ;  "  you  mis 
take  again.  There  are  other  means  to  win  our  freedom 
besides  the  fire  and  the  sword." 

"  And  these  are  —  " 

"Native  pride  and  native  eloquence  —  they  can  win  it. 
Pride  to  fling  back  in  the  face  of  the  government  the 


262  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

bribes  they  offer  us  under  the  names  of  places  and  pen 
sions  ;  and  eloquence,  such  as  this  land  may  well  boast  of, 
to  expose  and  denounce  to  the  world  the  profligacy,  the 
deception,  and  the  reckless  injustice  of  our  rulers.  Give 
me  but  these  —  give  me  but  pride  enough  to  make  us 
scorn  a  servile  dependence  on  England,  and  eloquence  to 
arouse  and  concentrate  the  intelligence,  the  talent,  and, 
above  all,  the  honest,  young,  unbroken,  and  unpurchasa- 
ble  spirits  of  the  land,  and  England  would  not  dare,  sir, 
to  refuse  our  rights  and  liberties." 

" -Dare /"  said  the  priest  —  "has  she  not  dared  every 
thing?  What!  look  round  from  the  shore  to  the  centre 
of  this  island,  and  tell  me,  is  there  a  single  village  that 
does  not  speak  its  little  story  of  her  daring  f  Dare, 
young  man  !  has  she  not  dared  to  rob  us  of  all  that  was 
worth  living  for?  Has  she  not  razed  our  churches,  burned 
our  convents  and  monasteries,  banished  or  murdered  the 
priests  of  God  upon  the  altar,  —  not  in  a  moment  of 
frenzy,  or  in  the  tumult  of  war,  but  with  the  cool,  steady 
purpose  of  the  midnight  assassin?  Ha,  Feargus,  you  can 
not  yet  comprehend  the  measure  of  England's  hate  to  this 
country.  A  mind  young  and  generous  like  yours  cannot 
conceive  how,  for  so  many  centuries,  she  has  never  ceased 
for  one  moment  to  persecute  us,  till  at  length  she  reduced 
us  to  beggary  and  starvation,  and  then  threw  herself  upon 
us  —  or,  rather,  her  religion,  her  laws,  and  her  military 
—  like  a  deadly  incubus,  to  crush  out  or  smother  the  last 
spark  of  national  spirit  that  remained.  But  why — why 
did  she  not  destroy  all  ?  why  did  she  leave  us  these  sad 
mementoes?"  continued  the  priest,  in  a  voice  low  and  full 
of  feeling,  and  pointing  to  the  venerable  relic  —  the  old 
castle  of  the  O'Donnells  —  that  stood,  skeleton-like,  with 
in  a  few  paces  of  the  window  where  he  sat.  "  Had  she 
destroyed  every  vestige  of  our  glory  and  our  greatness, 
by  razing  to  the  very  foundations  our  old  castles  and  our 
venerable,  time-honored  monasteries,  so  that  not  a  stone 


TEICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  263 

should  be  left  upon  another,  we  might  in  time  be  made  to 
forget  what  we  once  were.  But  alas !  the  old  walls  bring 
back  again  old  memories,  and  as  the  eye  rests  on  the  ivied 
ruin,  the  heart  yearns  for  the  days  that  are  gone.  Oh, 
there  is  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  living  near  that  old  ruin 
—  it  does  me  good  to  look  upon  it  —  and  yet  at  times  I 
almost  wish  it  was  not  there  ;  for,  do  you  know,  Feargus, 
the  children  in  the  streets  sometimes  mock  my  gray  hairs, 
and  grown  men  insult  me  as  I  pass  them  by,  because  I  try 
to  watch  over  the  little  fold  which  the  Lord  has  intrusted 
to  my  keeping ;  and  then  as  I  think  of  old  times,  when 
the  people  of  all  this  land  were  God's  own  children,  and 
the  princes  and  chiefs  were  the  protectors  of  religion  and 
of  its  servants,  my  eye  unconsciously  seeks  the  old  castle, 
and  then  I  feel  the  pride,  —  the  old  family  pride  rising 
within  me  as  it  used  to  do  when  I  was  young,  and  in  a 
manner  not  at  all  becoming  the  spirit  of  rny  sacred  call 
ing.  Yes,  indeed,  I  often  wish  I  was  not  descended  from 
the  race  of  the  Baldearags,  for  they  were  a  proud  race. 
Had  I  been  of  meaner  origin,  I'm  sure  I  would  have  been 
a  better  priest ;  or  had  I  remained  in  Spain,  where  I  fled 
to  hide  myself  in  the  monastery  of  my  order,  far  from  the 
sight  of  the  persecutions  and  miseries  of  this  unfortunate 
country,  I  might  perhaps  have  been  comparatively  happy ; 
but  I  could  not  rest  there  —  I  longed  to  see  the  old  place 
again,  to  wander  about  amid  the  scenes  of  my  boyhood, 
and,  if  God  willed  it,  to  dispense  the  mysteries  of  our  holy 
religion  among  the  poor  people  whose  ancestors  were  once 
the  retainers  of  our  house.  Every  evening,  when  my  sa 
cred  duties  do  not  call  me  elsewhere,  I  steal  into  these  old 
walls,  to  read  my  breviary  and  tell  my  beads  on  the  steps 
of  the  little  altar,  which  is  yet  to  be  seen  in  the  eastern 
wing  of  the  castle.  It  was  but  yesterday  I  found  Ellen 
there,  deciphering  the  inscription  on  the  mantel-piece  in  the 
great  hall.  She  was  alone,  and  so  absorbed  in  her  task  that 
she  did  not  observe  me  till  I  was  at  her  side." 


264  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

"Strange,"  said  bis  companion,  resuming  his  seat; 
"  strange  you  have  not  yet  revealed  yourself  to  her.  Me- 
thinks  if  I  were  the  relation  of  Ellen  O'Donnell,  I  would 
not  leave  her  so  long  to  the  care  of  the  stranger." 

"  She  believes  me  dead,"  replied  the  priest ;  "  and  it's 
better  so,  yet  for  a  little  time :  perhaps  it  may  never  be 
prudent  to  disclose  the  secret." 

"  Has  she  made  any  inquiries  of  you  about  her  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  only  once.  She  told  me  then  she  believed 
him  dead  ;  for  there  had  been  no  intelligence  of  him  for 
seven  years.  Poor  thing !  when  I  saw  her  yesterday  in 
the  castle,  so  lonely  and  so  sad,  I  pitied  her,  and  it  was 
with  difficulty  I  refrained  from  embracing  and  consoling 
her  with  the  thought  that  her  old  uncle  was  near  to  watch 
and  guard  her  —  " 

Here  the  conversation  was  suddenly  interrupted.  The 
noise  of  horses'  feet  was  heard  rattling  up  to  the  hall-door, 
and  instantly  a  voice  demanded  to  know  if  Father  Dom- 
nick  was  at  home. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  inquired  the  priest,  following 
O'Brien  from  the  room. 

"  It's  a  man  that's  murdhered,  yer  reverence,"  replied 
the  rider,  leaping  from  the  horse's  back,  and  taking  off  his 
hat  reverently  to  the  old  clergyman. 

"  Murdered !  —  where  ?  " 

"  At  Nancy  Kelly's,  i'  the  gap,  please  yer  reverence. 
He's  all  but  gone ;  ye'll  hardly  ketch  him  livin'." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  the  priest. 

"  Feen  a  one  i'  myself  knows,  yer  reverence  ;  he's  a 
stranger  in  these  parts." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  his  name  ?  " 

"Why,  then,  now  that  I  remember  —  I  heard  them, 
callin'  him  Doogan." 

"  Doogan,  the  drover  ?  " 

"  Fegs,  I'll  warrint  he's  that  same,  seein'  he's  lake  one 
ony  way,  with  his  leather  gaiters,  an'  his  big  coat,  an'  his 
glazed  hat." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  265 

"  He's  not  a  Catholic  —  he  don't  want  me,  does  he  ?  " 
inquired  the  priest. 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  yer  reverence,  why  'am  not  jist  par- 
fet;  but  ould  Nancy  sent  me  afther  ye,  full  skutch,  an' 
more  betoken  she  tould  me  to  bring  the  docthor  too,  for 
he's  cut  up  in  smitherens.  Troth,  yer  reverence,  Father 
Domnick,  it  pit  myself  all  in  the  doldrums  when  I  seen 
him  ;  for  he's  a  poor  sight  to  luck  at,  so  he  is." 

The  priest  paused  a  moment  to  reflect ;  he  remembered 
having  received  papers  from  the  stranger  woman  whom  he 
prepared  for  death  at  the  Cairn  some  twelve  months  be 
fore,  and  at  whose  call  the  Rev.  Baxter  Cantwell  refused 
to  attend.  Then  turning  to  O'Brien,  he  observed  — 

"  This  looks  serious,  Captain  O'Brien —  I  believe  I  must 
go.  Will  you  accompany  me  ?  Perhaps  he  may  yet  be 
able  to  make  a  deposition.  You  are  still  a  magistrate  to 
take  it  —  is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"I  still  hold  the  commission  —  to-morrow's  mail  may 
bring  the  supersedeas.  But  let  us  act  while  we  may.  I 
shall  accompany  you  as  soon  as  I  can  find  a  horse  and  an 
orderly  at  the  barracks." 

Captain  O'Brien  abruptly  quitted  the  house,  and  hurried 
to  his  quarters. 

Father  Domnick  dispatched  the  messenger  for  Dr.  Snod- 
grass,  and  then  mounting  his  horse,  assisted  by  his  venera 
ble  and  faithful  servant,  Darby  Gallaugher,  rode  on  as  fast 
as  old  age  and  recent  fatigue  would  permit  him. 

In  a  few  minutes  O'Brien,  attended  by  an  orderly,  came 
up  with  the  priest,  and  the  three,  after  an  hour's  ride, 
arrived  at  Nancy  Kelly's  together. 

They  found  Doogan  the  butcher  stretched  on  a  bed  in  a 
corner  of  the  little  cabin,  bleeding  somewhat  profusely 
from  the  right  arm  and  side.  Nancy  was  busily  employed 
washing  the  wounds,  and  stanching  the  blood  with  cob 
webs  and  -cotton-wool,  while  "Dick  the  Omedaun  "  knelt 
at  the  bedside,  holding  a  basin  of  water.  The  wounded 


266  SHANDY   M'GUIKE,    OR 

man  lay  on  his  back,  breathing  heavily,  and  quite  insensi 
ble.  Father  Domnick  approached  the  bed,  and  found,  on 
examination,  that  some  sharp  instrument,  probably  a  dag 
ger  or  bayonet,  had  passed  through  the  fleshy  part  of  the 
arm  above  the  elbow,  and  under  the  shoulder  of  the  same 
side  a  gash  some  six  inches  long,  as  deep  as  the  ribs  would 
permit,  and  inflicted  apparently  by  the  same  or  a  similar 
sharp  weapon.  Neither  of  these  wounds,  however,  was 
by  any  means  mortal,  though  they  must  have  presented, 
to  the  inexperienced  eyes  of  the  simple  rustics  round  the 
bed,  an  alarming  appearance. 

"  Where  was  this  man  found  ?  "  inquired  Captain  O'Brien 
of  a  tall,  stalwart,  red- whiskered,  middle-aged  man,  dressed 
in  a  blue  freize  overcoat  and  corduroy  knee-breeches. 
"Where  did  you  find  him  ?" 

"Not  five  tether  lengths,  yer  honor;  jist  down  below 
the  house  here  in  the  holla,"  replied  the  man. 

"Did  you  find  him  insensible,  as  he  is  now  ?  " 

"  In  the  very  way  you  see  him,  sir,  an'  his  horse  grazin' 
aside  him  on  the  brew  i'  the  ditch." 

"  Could  he  have  lain  long  on  the  road  before  you  reached 
him?" 

"  Why,  then,  in  regard  to  that,  'am  not  jist  a  jide  i' 
time,  plase  yer  honor ;  but  ony  way,  he  cudn't  be  more 
nor  the  matther  i'  five  minits,  more  or  less  ;  for  whin  Peter 
Hanagan  an'  myself  tapped  the  hill  on  this  side  'v  Shane 
Dunion's,  we  heerd  him  shoutin'  murdher  below,  and  we 
run  like  mad  —  as  fast  as  lamplighters." 

"  Did  you  hear  him  mention  any  name  ?  " 

"  Feen  a  one,  yer  honor." 

"  Did  you  see  any  one  running  from  the  direction  of 
the  place  where  he  fell  ?  " 

"  Not  a  creathur,  sir." 

"You  might;  for  it  was  moonlight." 

"  True  enough,  we  might,  as  yer  honor  says,  only  for 
the  turf-stacks  atween  iz  an'  them." 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  267 

"Did  you  find  any  arms  or  weapons  about  the  place 
where  the  wounded  man  lay  ?  " 

"  Not  a  hap'orth  ban-in'  this."  And  the  man  took  from 
a  table  behind  him  a  piece  of  polished  steel  about  four 
inches  long  and  tri-edged  like  a  bayonet,  with  blood  upon 
it.  He  handed  it  to  O'Brien. 

O'Brien  examined  it  for  an  instant,  and  then  said,  — 

"  This  is  the  point  of  a  cane-sword,  or  rapier.  I  shall 
keep  it.  Trifling  as  it  appears,  it  may  lead  to  the  detec 
tion  of  the  party." 

"Begorra,"  broke  in  Dick  —  "if  that  isn't  lake  the  thing 
Mr.  Coulson  scared  me  with,  so  it  is." 

"  Who  is  Coulson  ?  "  demanded  O'Brien. 

"  He's  a  mighty  bad  man  —  as  bad  as  his  master  a'rnost," 
muttered  Dick;  "only  he  didn't  brak  poor  Mary's  heart." 

"  Whisht  with  yer  nonsense,"  said  his  mother  in  a  severe 
tone,  "  an'  hould  the  basin.  Niver  mind  him,  yer  honor, 
captain,"  she  continued,  addressing  the  officer;  "shure 
he's  a  poor  witless  creathur,  and  disn't  know  what  he  be's 
sayin'." 

O'Brien  again  turned  to  the  tall,  red-whiskered  man, 
and  asked  if  Doogan  had  spoken  since  he  was  found  on 
the  road.  He  was  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  he  again  demanded. 

"  Why,  'am  called  Jemmy  Galinaugh,  yer  honor,  for 
want  av  a  betther." 

"  Where  were  you  going,  when  you  found  this  man  ?  " 

"Not  far,  sir  —  only  up  the  hill  here  a  piece."  And  the 
man  smiled  as  he  answered. 

"Ha!  you  are  the  famous  Galinaugh  of  Lough  Dev- 
nish?" 

"  So  they  say,  yer  honor." 

"  Well,  I  shall  ask  no  more  questions  now  —  I  hear  the 
doctor  coming  ;  but  observe,  you  and  your  companion  here 
will  hold  yourselves  in  readiness  to  appear  as  witnesses  in 
this  case  when  called  on." 


268  SHANDY  M'GUIBE,   OR 

The  door  opened,  and  our  quondam  friend,  Dr.  Snod- 
grass,  entered,  bowing  most  obsequiously  to  the  priest  and 
the  officer,  assuring  them  of  the  fact  that  he  did  not  lose 
a  moment  at  his  toilet,  so  anxious  was  he  in  this  instance 
(as  indeed  he  was  in  all  cases)  to  assist  to  the  utmost  ex 
tent  of  his  poor  abilities  in  the  preservation  of  human  life. 
"  He  was  sure  he  must  look  frightful  in  his  present  ill-reg 
ulated  dress,  and  dishevelled  hair ;  but,"  he  added  smil 
ingly,  "  that  matters  of  such  minor  consideration  ought 
never  be  thought  of,  when  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  was 
in  danger." 

Having  spent  a  minute  or  two  in  arranging  his  fair  locks 
according  to  habit,  and  turning  up  the  cuffs  of  his  jockey- 
coat,  he  approached  the  patient  and  commenced  the  exam 
ination.  Having  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
wounds,  he  set  about  preparing  bandages,  salves,  lint, 
adhesive  plasters,  <fcc.,  with  wonderful  assiduity,  giving  the 
officer  and  the  priest,  at  the  same  time,  a  lengthy  and  very 
luminous  expose  of  the  case  before  him,  not  omitting  a 
single  professional  term  that  could  possibly  be  introduced 
for  the  illustration  of  the  subject. 

"  Do  you  think  the  man  will  live  ?  "  inquired  the  priest, 
interrupting  the  doctor  at  the  most  interesting  point  of 
his  exposition. 

"Pardon  me,  reverend  sir,  I  was  just  about  to  explain." 

"  I  thank  you,  doctor ;  but  I  cannot  understand  your 
explanation." 

"  Ha,  ha  —  well,  well  —  the  terms  we  use  are  somewhat 
difficult  to  those  who  have  not  studied  our  profession. 
Yes,  sir ;  very  well  —  to  your  question,  *  Will  he  live  ? '  I 
have  only  to  reply,  that  it  does  not  depend  at  all  upon  the 
depth  or  severity  of  the  lesions  under  the  shoulder  and  on 
the  arm,  but  on  the  nature  of  the  blow  or  contusion  he 
received  on  the  left  temple  —  a  thing  which  I  rather  think 
has  escaped  your  observation." 

"  I  wish  to  know,  sir,"  persisted  the  priest,  "  whether, 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  269 

after  the  examination  you  have  made,  you  can  offer  an 
opinion  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  responded  Snodgrass,  putting  a  spoonful  of 
liquid  medicine  to  the  lips  of  the  patient,  "  as  to  an  opin 
ion,  I  may  be  permitted  to  observe,  that  if  we  follow  the 
Scotch  schools,  of  which  I  might  venture  to  say  I  know 
something,  having  studied  both  in  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow 

—  here  the  patient  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  about  him 

—  I  might  venture  to  say  he  will  recover." 

"  And  how  long  may  it  be,  sir,  before  he  can  make  his 
deposition  ?  "  inquired  O'Brien. 

"  That  depends,  captain,  in  a  very  great  measure  on  the 
length  of  time  it  may  require  to  make  it." 

"  Pardon  me,  doctor,"  said  the  priest,  passing  him  rather 
abruptly,  and  taking  a  seat  beside  the  bed.  "  I  wish  to 
speak  a  few  words  to  him." 

Father  Domnick  bent  down  his  head  close  to  the  sick 
man's,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  The  effect 
was  instantaneous.  The  patient  turned  quickly  on  his 
side,  and  looking  steadily  in  the  old  man's  face,  said,  — 

"  Ha !  I  thocht  she  burned  the  bit  papers  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  the  priest;  "she  gave  them  to  me  in 
charge." 

"Ye  hae  na  read  them — hae  ye  ?" 

"  Yes ;  by  her  request." 

"  Weel,  weel,  I  dinna  care  now.  Sin'  a'  my  hopes  are 
gane  aglee,  I'll  e'en  mak'  a  clean  breast  o'ut." 

"  If  you  wish,"  said  the  priest,  "  I  shall  place  these  pa 
pers  in  your  own  hands,  and  promise  you  their  contents 
shall  ever  be  regarded  by  me  as  an  inviolable  secret." 

"  Na,  na,"  replied  Doogan,  "  dinna  gi'  them  up.  If  I 
live,  the  folks  at  the  Castle  may  gie  me  a  guid  penny  for 
them ;  an'  if  I  die,  why,  the  sooner  the  warld  kens  o'  their 
doins,  the  better.  Dinna  lose  them.  Haud  them  weel." 

"  Here,"  said  Father  Domnick,  pointing  to  O'Brien,  "is 
a  magistrate  ready  to  take  your  deposition,  if  you  think 


270  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OK 

you  are  sufficiently  recovered  to  make  it.  He  came  to  visit 
you  for  that  purpose."  O'Brien  approached  the  bed,  and 
took  Doogan  by  the  hand. 

"  Captain  O'Brien  !"  ejaculated  the  wounded  man,  with 
some  surprise;  "  why,  sir,  I  didna  expec'  to  meet  you  here. 
But  sure  yer  no  a  justice  now,  mun  —  ye  hae  lost  your  com 
mission/' 

"  How  did  you  ascertain  that  ?  " 

"  Frae  that  deevil's  bird,  Archy  Cantwell  —  'twas  him. 
seP  that  did  it." 

"  He  has  misinformed  you,  Doogan  ;  the  supersedeas 
has  not  yet  come  to  hand.  I  am  a  magistrate  still,  and 
prepared  to  take  your  deposition.  Are  you  willing  to 
make  it  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  mun  ;  I  ne'er  did  a  deed  wi'  mair  pleesure.  I'm 
na  muckle  beholden  to  the  Castle,  an'  as  for  Archy  Cant- 
well,  I  trow  these  scars  I  hae  met  wi'  canna  plead  muckle 
in  his  behoof.  He's  a  hell-born  deevil,  an'  his  father,  wi' 
a'  his  prayers  an'  preachin',  is  na  sae  much  ahint  him. 
Hugh,  hugh !  ay,  I'll  tell  the  tale,  should  they  thaw  my 
wizen  for't." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  suspected  Mr.  Cantwell  of  being 
concerned  in  the  waylaying." 

"  Suspec' !  hugh,  mun,  it's  mair  nor  a'  that.  I  kenn'd 
the  face  and  tongue  o'  Coulson  the  bailie,  the  minit  I  saw 
him,  before  he  felled  me  frae  the  powney ;  an'  I'm  no  sae 
dowey  as  not  to  know  he  was  sent  after  me  by  his  mas 
ter." 

"Then  you  believe  Coulson  to  have  been  one  of  the  per 
sons  who  waylaid  you !  " 

"  I'll  swear  it  on  a'  the  beuks  that  ever  wir  shut  or 
opened." 

Captain  O'Brien  paused  for  an  instant  to  reflect,  and 
then  beckoning  to  his  orderly,  left  the  house.  In  a  mo 
ment  after,  horses'  feet  were  heard  in  full  gallop  from  the 
door,  and  O'Brien  returned  to  take  Doogan's  deposition. 


TEICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  271 

« 
The  latter  was  now  so  far  recovered  from  the  stunning 

effects  of  the  blow,  or  fall  on  the  temple,  as  to  be  able  to 
speak  without  much  pain  or  effort.  As  for  the  wounds, 
they  were  severe,  but  by  no  means  dangerous. 

Doogan  requested  the  house  to  be  cleared  of  all  but  the 
priest,  the  magistrate,  Nancy  Kelly,  and  Jemmy  Galinaugh. 
Dr.  Snodgrass,  having  declared  the  patient  out  of  danger, 
intimated  his  intention  of  returning  home ;  but  Captain 
O'Brien,  for  certain  reasons  of  his  own,  thought  it  advisa 
ble  to  detain  him  for  some  time,  and  having  politely  ex 
pressed  himself  to  that  effect,  directed  one  of  the  neigh 
bors  to  watch,  and  if  he  attempted  escape,  to  prevent 
him.  A  table  was  then  placed  beside  the  wounded  man's 
bed ;  and  the  magistrate,  having  procured  writing  mate 
rials,  sat  down  before  it,  and  wrote,  as  the  deponent  dic 
tated,  the  following  sworn  deposition.  In  order  to  prevent 
the  reader's  mistaking  so  important  a  document,  we  shall 
dispense  with  the  Scotch  dialect,  and  give  it  in  plain,  read 
able  English. 

THE  DEPOSITION. 

"  I  am  commonly  called  Daniel  Doogan.  My  real  name, 
however,  is  Daniel  M'Kenzie.  I  am  a  butcher  by  trade, 
but  have  followed  '  droving '  for  the  last  two  years  —  that 
business  according  best  with  the  nature  of  my  other  avo 
cations.  I  am  a  native  of  Greenock,  Scotland.  I  was  for 
some  time  a  constable  of  police  in  Bandon,  county  Cork, 
where  I  was  dismissed  eighteen  months  ago  for  reasons 
best  known  to  the  government.  I  left  my  wife  and  three 
children  in  Dublin  under  the  care  of  an  officer  of  the  execu 
tive,  after  I  had  received  an  appointment  in  the  secret  ser 
vice  of  the  government.  My  wife  knew  nothing  of  the 
nature  of  my  employment,  nor  of  the  name  I  had  assumed. 
I  was  obliged  to  make  oath  on  the  Evangelists  never  to 
reveal  my  real  name,  except  to  those  whose  addresses  were 
given  me  by  a  person  whom  I  did  not  know,  and  whom 


272  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,    OR 

I  have  never  seen  since  I  met  him  by  appointment  in  a 
dark  room  at  the  headquarters  of  the  constabulary,  and 
from  him  there  received  my  instructions.  Since  then  I 
have  been  employed  in  the  counties  Derry  and  Donegal. 
I  receive  my  pay  quarterly,  and  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
prevent  any  •  possibility  of  my  detecting  the  place  or  the 
person  whence  it  comes.  My  principal  duty  is  to  trace  out 
Ribbon  papers,  and  other  such  proofs  of  Ribbon  conspira 
cies.  In  order  the  more  easily  to  effect  my  purposes,  I 
have  had  myself  sworn  in  a  member  of  a  Ribbon  lodge, 
and  by  that  means  have  free  access  to  all  the  Ribbon  meet 
ings  in  the  province  of  Ulster,  but  especially  to  those  of 
the  counties  Derry  and  Donegal.  When  it  happened,  as 
it  did  very  often,  that  a  person  or  persons  were  -suspected 
of  Ribbonism,  without  sufficient  legal  evidence  of  the  fact, 
I  was  at  liberty  to  counterfeit  or  procure  Ribbon  papers, 
such  as  certificates  of  admission  or  of  rank ;  and  having 
placed  them  in  possession  of  the  suspected  individuals, 
give  information  to  the  police.  When  the  immediate  arrest 
of  the  party  was  required,  as  for  example,  in  fairs  or  mar 
kets,  and  when  Ribbon  papers  should  be  found  on  the  per 
son,  then  the  man  was  marked  out  from  the  crowd,  and 
the  Ribbon  paper  deposited  in  his  pocket,  boot,  &c.,  &c. ; 
but  where  the  information  was  against  a  lodge-meeting,  it 
became  often  necessary  to  be  more  cautious  and  circum 
spect.  In  such  cases  I  generally  managed  to  ascertain  the 
precise  hour  of  the  meeting  two  or  three  days  before  it  took 
place,  and  then  passing  on  to  the  nearest  police  barrack, 
deposit  the  information  in  the  post-office.  These  post-offices 
were  of  a  very  unusual  kind,  being  nothing  more  than 
hiding-places  in  stone  walls,  old  decayed  houses,  and  but- 
ments  of  bridges,  known  only  to  myself  and  the  police 
sergeant  of  the  district.  They  were  always  close  by  the 
barracks,  and  examined  at  night  to  escape  observation. 
One  of  these  post-offices  is  in  Barnes'  Gap,  not  far  from 
the  Stranorlar  police  station.  If  you  wish  to  see  the 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  273 

place  and  the  papers  there  concealed,  take  Duncan,  and  he 
will  carry  you  to  the  spot.  In  order  to  obtain  my  quarter's 
salary,  it  is  necessary  I  should  have  a  certificate  of '  trust 
worthiness  and  assiduity  in  discharge  of  my  duties,'  signed 
by  one  of  the  leading  members  of  an  Orange  lodge.  Mr. 
Archibald  Cantwell,  the  Agent  of  Colonel  Templeton,  is 
the  gentleman  who  has  hitherto  signed  them  for  me  when 
in  this  section  of  the  country.  I  have  known  him  intimate 
ly  for  the  last  two  years.  I  saw  him  to-night,  about  eight 
o'clock,  at  the  house  of  Wm.  Coulson,  his  bailiff.  He  was 
much  excited,  his  garments  soiled  and  torn ;  he  said  he 
had  just  then  been  attacked  by  some  one  at  the  back  en 
trance  to  the  demesne,  and  would  have  been  strangled  but 
for  the  timely  intervention  of  the  priest.  After  he  had 
sat  for  some  time,  and  his  excitement  somewhat  abated,  I 
applied  to  him  for  his  customary  signature.  He  refused, 
assigning  as  a  reason  that  I  was  undeserving  of  confidence, 
having  lodged  a  written  information  with  the  revenue  po 
lice  officer  in  Donegal,  of  two  casks  of  unpermitted  liquor 
to  be  found  in  his  father's  cellar.  This  I  at  once  denied. 
I  never  did  make  such  information ;  nor  indeed  could  I, 
for  till  that  moment  I  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Cantwell  having  smuggled  liquor  in  his  possession. 
He  persisted,  nevertheless,  and  declared  he  had  learned 
the  fact  from  a  revenue  police  sergeant,  who  saw  me 
hand  the  letter  to  the  guard,  and  who  afterwards  read  it 
himself.  He  then  ordered  me  from  his  presence,  and  de 
clared,  that  in  requital  of  my  treachery,  he  would  never 
consent  to  give  me  Jemmy  Connor's  farm  in  Tubbernasig- 
gart,  of  which  he  had  already  promised  to  put  me  in  pos 
session,  as  soon  as  the  old  man  could  be  ejected.  I  re 
monstrated  strongly  against  this  breach  of  faith,  and  at 
length  declared,  if  he  did  not  redeem  his  pledge,  I  would 
make  a  public  avowal  of  all  the  secret  services  in  which  he 
had  employed  me.  He  only  laughed  at  the  threat,  and 
said  he  would  take  care  that  no  revelation  of  the  kind 
18 


274  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

should  take  place,  looking  round,  at  the  same  time,  very 
significantly  at  Coulson  and  two  others  who  were  present 
during  the  conversation.  This  unexpected  and  sudden 
downfall  of  my  long-cherished  hope  enraged  me  beyond 
measure,  and  throwing  off  all  reserve,  I  charged  him  openly 
with  having  directed  me  to  put  a  Ribbon  paper  on  the 
person  of  Frank  Devlin,  and  afterwards  to  proceed  to 
the  barracks  and  order  the  sergeant  to  arrest  and  search 
him ;  that  by  his  special  orders  I  deposited  Ribbon  papers 
and  bullet-moulds  in  the  house  of  Hugh  M'Gettigan,  and 
that  he  confessed  to  me  Jemmy  Connor  was  due  no  arrears 
of  rent ;  but  that  having  discovered  the  old  man  had  lost 
a  receipt  for  money  paid  some  six  years  ago,  he  was 
resolved  to  force  the  daughter  to  submit  to  his  wishes 
through  fear  of  the  father's  ejection  from  his  property. 
This  last  disclosure  made  him  furious,  and  snatching  a 
holster-pistol  from  the  wall  beside  him,  he  snapped  it  in 
my  face.  It  did  not  explode.  He  then  caught  it  by  the 
barrel,  and  attempted  to  strike  me  with  the  butt  upon  the 
head ;  I  evaded  the  blow,  and  stepped  back  towards  the 
open  door,  when  Coulson  and  the  two  others  followed  me, 
doubtless  with  the  intention  of  taking  my  life,  but,  for 
tunately  for  me,  the  key  was  in  the  door,  and  drawing  it 
suddenly  after  me,  I  locked  it  on  the  outside.  I  then  ran 
at  my  utmost  speed  till  I  reached  the  town,  fully  convinced 
that  if  the  party  had  overtaken  me,  I  would  have  been 
murdered,  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  such  mysterious 
revelations  as  I  could  make.  Having  remained  for  a  little 
more  than  an  hour  at  the  tavern,  during  which  I  took 
some  refreshment  and  baited  my  horse,  I  set  out  on  my 
way  to  Stranorlar ;  when  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
this  house,  I  was  attacked  by  three  men,  having  their  faces 
blacked;  one  of  them  I  swear  to  be  Coulson;  I  knew  his 
face  and  voice  notwithstanding  the  disguise.  He  struck 
me  on  the  head  with  some  heavy  weapon,  like  the  butt  of  a 
carabine,  and  I  fell  instantly  from  my  horse.  I  know  noth- 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  275 

ing  of  what  happened  after,  till  I  found  myself  here  a  few- 
minutes  ago.  When  I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  around, 
I  became  in  an  instant  aware  of  what  had  befallen  me." 
Here  the  deponent  ended. 

O'Brien  read  over  the  deposition  slowly  and  distinctly; 
after  which  Doogan  signed  it,  as  did  also  the  witnesses. 

"Now,"  said  the  magistrate,  after  Nancy  had  admin 
istered  some  cordial  to  the  sick  man,  "  I  shall  ask  you  a  few 
questions,  which  you  may  answer,  or  not,  as  you  please. 
Do  you  know  aught  of  a  ring  that  has  been  frequently 
seen  on  Mr.  Archibald  Cantwell's  finger,  during  the  past 
month  ?  " 

"  I  do ;  it  belongs  to  a  young  lass  they  ca'  Miss  O'Don- 
nell ;  she  bides  at  the  General's ;  she  was  robbed  o't,  if  I 
dinna  mak'  a  mistake,  somewhere  aboot  the  26th  o'  July 
last." 

"How?" 

"  Weel,  captain,  that  maun  be  a  secret  i'  my  ain  just  now. 
I  spier  there's  na  use  in  bein'  unco  glegg  aboot  it." 

"As  you  please.  You  are  not  required  to  make  any 
avowal  that  will  criminate  yourself.  But  how  came  Mr. 
Cantwell  by  that  ring?  " 

"  I  gied  it  him." 

"  Did  he  know  to  whom  it  belonged  ?" 

"Na,  na  —  I  didna  tell  him  that.  I  gied  it  under  pre 
tence  o'  findin'  it  ten  or  twal  years  sin,  syne  on  the  road 
to  Ballycastle,  where  I  gaed  to  buy  a  powney." 

"  Were  you  aware  of  the  value  of  the  ring,  when  you 
presented  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  Ou,  ay ;  I  thocht  the  bit  bawble  was  o'  some  value, 
but  didna  care  a  bodle  about  it  for  my  ain  use,  and  as  ye 
may  easy  ken,  I  wudna  think  it  ower  safe  to  sell  it." 

"Did  Mr.  Cantwell  know  the  device  upon  it?" 

"  Noa,  he  couldna  mak'  it  oot.  But  I  was  aince  mysel' 
in  the  auld  castle,  glowrin'  about  me,  and  spied  an  unco 
strange  wonner  thing  cut  in  the  mantel-piece  i'  the  big  ha', 


276  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

whilk  they  call  the  Baldearag.  I  think  noo  it's  the  same 
as  on  the  ring." 

"  Where  did  you  see  the  ring  last  ?  " 

"  On  his  finger  this  night  at  Wulley  Coulson's." 

O'Brien  folded  up  the  deposition,  and  rising  from  his 
chair  requested  the  witnesses  to  preserve  the  strictest 
silence  on  the  subject  of  that  night's  disclosures.  He  in 
formed  them  of  his  intention  of  removing  Doogan,  in  the 
course  of  the  next  day,  to  some  place  where  he  might  be 
less  exposed  to  annoyance  from  his  enemies  than  in  Nancy 
Kelly's. 

The  door  was  then  opened,  and  the  orderly  was  the  first 
to  re-enter. 

"Have  they  come?"  asked  O'Brien,  buckling  on  his 
sword,  and  preparing  to  leave. 

"They  have,  sir;  a  sergeant's  guard  is  at  the  door 
awaiting  your  orders." 

"  Shall  I  send  one  of  my  men  with  you,  Father  Dom- 
nick  ?  "  said  the  officer.  "  It's  late  now  —  you  may  require 
protection  these  troublous  times." 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  the  priest ;  "  I  shall  be  perfectly 
safe.  I  am  accustomed  to  travel  on  these  roads  by  night. 
But  I  had  promised  myself  the  pleasure  of  your  company 
home.  What  means  the  sergeant's  guard?  More  duty 
to-night  —  eh  ?  " 

"Mr.  Coulson  is  entitled  to  the  honor  of  a  visit,  to 
night,"  replied  O'Brien,  smiling.  "A  gentleman  Jike  him, 
who  has  ventured  so  far  to  screen  the  reputation  of  his 
employer  from  calumny,  deserves  not  to  be  treated  with 
indifference  or  neglect.  Good  night,  Father  Domnick — 
we  shall  meet  to-morrow.  And  you,  doctor,  may  now 
return  to  your  couch  at  your  own  leisure,  happy  in  the 
reflection  that,  in  sacrificing  the  comfort  of  a  night's  sleep, 
and  the  delights  of  the  toilet,  you  have  assisted  materially 
in  preserving  human  life,  and  as  a  consequence,  bringing 
to  light  certain  '  hidden  things  of  darkness,'  of  which  the 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  277 

busy  world  was  hitherto  completely  ignorant.  I  would 
have  long  since  permitted  you  to  depart,  had  I  not  been 
aware  of  the  interchange  of  friendly  offices  which  the  rules 
of  your  society  make  incumbent  on  its  members,  and  which 
might  have  led  you  —  after  hearing  the  declaration  of  your 
patient  —  to  Mr.  Wm.  Coulson's,  in  order  to  give  him 
brotherly,  timely,  and  precautionary  counsel  in'  this  little 
affair.  It  was,  therefore,  that  I  might  have  precedence  of 
you  to-night,  in  my  interview  with  Mr.  Coulson,  that  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  detaining  you  till  I  was  ready  to 
leave.  Good  night,  doctor." 

O'Brien  sprung  to  his  saddle,  and  turning  short  down  a 
narrow  lane,  followed  by  his  men,  was  soon  invisible  under 
the  deep  shadow  of  Barnesmore. 


278  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   Oil 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A   NIGHT   IN    THE    MOUNTAINS. DUMPY    DOWSER5  S   LAST 

DANCE. 

BETWEEN  five  and  six  o'clock,  on  the  following  night,  in 
Nealashin-a-Crawmshy's  comfortable  little  kitchen,  in  the 
townland  of  Gortnotragh,  far  up  in  the  mountains,  and  on 
a  bossag,  or  straw  stool,  with  an  eggshell  of  poteen-whiskey 
resting  on  his  knee,  sat  our  old  lion-hearted  friend,  Dumpy 
Dowser.  At  the  moment  the  writer  is  supposed  to  have 
lifted  the  latch  of  Crawmshy's  door,  and  walked  in  to  the 
company,  Dowser  was  resting  a  wearied  body,  evidently 
after  the  performance  of  some  violent  exercise,  for  his 
breath  came  thick  and  short,  his  eyes  were  more  open  and 
bulbous  than  usual,  and  over  his  bald  temples  down  upon 
his  cheeks  rolled  several  little  streams  of  perspiration,  which 
he  kept  wiping  off  incessantly  with  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 
The  stool  on  which  he  sat  was  very  low  —  so  much  so,  in 
deed,  that  his  knees  were  gathered  up  close  to  his  chin,  and 
gave  him  somewhat  the  shape  of  a  huge  frog,  perched  on  a 
flag  on  a  rainy  day,  puffing  and  blowing  as  the  genial  drops 
fell  around  and  produced  in  his  nerves  a  pleasurable  excite 
ment.  But  the  similarity  extended  only  to  appearance,  for 
Dowser  was  not  happy ;  no,  on  the  contrary,  he  was  very 
unhappy,  and  very  much  dissatisfied  with  his  position ;  yet 
he  did  not  complain,  for  he  thought  it  would  be  imprudent 
to  complain  under  existing  circumstances,  and  that  thought 
kept  the  lion  as  quiet  and  tractable  as  a  lamb.  He  had 
been  made  to  dance  almost  every  night  since  he  was  carried 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  279 

off  to  Gortnotragh,  to  sing  Ribbon  songs,  bless  the  Pope, 
and  curse  King  William  a  thousand  times,  yet  no  remon 
strance  was  ever  heard,  except  in  his  sleep,  or  in  the 
dead  of  night  when  all  was  still.  Then,  if  we  can  credit 
Shandy's  testimony,  he  had  been  often  heard  to  retract  all 
he  had  previously  said  or  sung,  and,  in  tones  low  and 
stealthy,  of  course,  but  wonderfully  lacrymose  and  pitiful, 
to  supplicate  "the  glorious,  pious,  and  immortal  shade"  for 
mercy  and  forgiveness.  He  feared  Shandy  as  he  did  no 
other  living  man ;  he  knew  not  why,  he  said  to  his  host, 
one  evening,  whilst  enjoying  the  comforts  of  life  in  a  quiet, 
social  way,  but  yet  he  did,  nor  was  he  ashamed  to  avow  it, 
since  his  courage  and  manhood  were  well  known  to  almost 
every  herdboy  for  twenty  miles  round. 

Close  by  Dowser  sat  Nealashin  himself,  considerably 
more  elevated  than  his  neighbor.  There  was  a  tin  teapot, 
of  rather  large  capacity,  beside  him,  on  the  habt  which  he 
had  just  laid  down,  his  crutch  lay  on  the  floor  stretched  be 
tween  Dowser  and  himself,  his  right  arm  was  resting  on 
the  settle  behind  him,  while  his  left  was  engaged  in  adjust 
ing  his  pipe  to  its  usual  position.  Nealashin  was  upwards 
of  sixty  years  of  age,  round-visaged,  with  a  funny,  quizzical 
eye,  and  red  hair,  straight,  short,  and  scattering. 

Opposite  to  both,  with  a  fiddle  under  his  arm,  engaged 
in  knotting  a  string  that  had  broken  but  a  moment  before, 
and  raised  on  a  kind  of  platform,  or  "  dais,"  sat  Shandy 
M'Guire. 

Ten  or  twelve  others,  of  both  sexes,  were  seated  here 
and  there,  in  groups  of  three  and  four,  laughing  merrily 
together,  and  directing  their  looks  continually  at  Dumpy 
Dowser  on  the  bossag. 

"  Come,  now,  Mr.  Dowser,"  began  Crawmshy,  taking  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  leaning  over  familiarly  towards 
his  neighbor,  "  Come,  take  that  drap,  an'  don't  be  keepin' 
it  there  on  ycr  knee,  like  a  parish  wonder;  drain  it  aff,  man, 
it  'ill  pit  life  in  ye  for  anither  dance." 


280  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

"  I'd  rather  not  rise  any  more,"  observed  Dowser,  "  if  the 
company's  agreeable." 

"  Hout,  'onsense,  Mr.  Dowser,  is  it  give  up  a'ready  ye'd 
do,  an'  you  only  twicet  on  the  flure  ;  besides,  man,  there's 
nothin'  betther  for  the  health  nor  a  good  dance." 

Dowser  looked  at  him  for  a  second,  and  then  wiped  his 
face,  but  said  nothing. 

"Bad  scran  to  the  word  i'  lie  'am  tellin',"  continued 
Crawmshy,  "and  more  betoken  there's  my  uncle,  Long 
Hemush,  they  ust  to  call  him,  —  may  the  heavens  be  his 
bed,  for  he  was  the  laugliy  kind  uncle  to  me — well,  I 
heerd  him  say  —  an'  it's  himself  was  the  knowledgeable 
man,  Mr.  Dowser,  —  I  heerd  him  say,  as  aften's  there's 
fingers  an'  toes  on  me,  that  a  good  glass  i'  whiskey  an'  a 
*  heel  an9  toe  batthar '  was  a  surer  cure  for  a  windy  stomach 
than  all  the  dhrugs  in  the  docthor's  shap.  Do,  now,  take 
that  thimelful,  it  'ill  warm  ye." 

"  Warm  me,"  repeated  Dowser ;  "  humph ! "  and  again 
he  wiped  his  forehead. 

" Maybe  ye'd  lake  it  punched  with  some  'goats'  milk,' " 
persisted  his  tormentor,  stretching  for  the  tin  teapot ;  "  do, 
now,  the  quality  sich  as  you  lakes  it  mighty  well  'am 
tould." 

"  Bad  luck  to  yer  goats'  milk,"  returned  Dowser,  "  if  'am 
not  kilt  with  it." 

"Dear  be  about  iz,  Mr.  Dowser;  sure  it  wudn't  be 
cursin'  the  poor  innacint  bastes  ye'd  be  ;  the  crathurs  that 
gives  the  drap  milk  to  the  childher  —  eh  ?  " 

"  The  bastes  ! "  repeated  Dowser ;  "  faith,  if  that  be  the 
sort  of  milk  the  goats  up  here  give,  ye  might  bring  a  pair 
of  them  to  Donegal  any  day,  and  set  up  shop  with  them 
without  spigot  or  faucet." 

"  Why,  what  in  the  wurl  d'ye  mane  ?  " 

"  Mean  !  oh,  the  curse  i'  the  crows  light  on  it  for  goats' 
milk ;  may  I  never  see  home  livin',  but  it  'd  poison  a 
Turk,  so  it  would ;  it's  nothing  but  pure  whiskey  with  a 
color  to  it." 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  281 

"Well,  in  troth,"  said  Crawmshy,  half  soliloquizing, 
"that's  just  what  my  uncle  Hemush  ust  to  say  —  and  it 
was  himself  had  the  quare  old  sayin's,  —  it's  hard  to  plaze 
the  quality  in  regard  i'  drink.  See,  Mr.  Dowser,  them 
same  quality  that  you  belong  to,  ust  to  scowld  the  very 
sowl  out  i'  my  body  a'most,  for  only  takin'  a  drap  iv  a  fair 
mornin',  just  to  loosen  my  tongue  afore  I'd  begin  my 
markets,  an',  by  the  hole  i'  my  coat,  they'd  be  kerned 
theinsels  to  bed,  afther  a  night's  booze,  as  drunk  as  pipers." 

"  Oh,  well,  av  course,"  replied  Dowser  ;  "  but  then  ye 
see  it's  when  their  business  is  all  over,  and  after  dinner ; 
that's  the  fashion." 

"Faith  it's  a  quare  fashion.  Now  luck,  Mr.  Dowser, 
may  I  niver  do  harm  if  I  lake  drinkin'  much  myself,  for 
it's  not  good  for  sowl  or  body,  an'  feen  a  one  iver  saw  me 
the  worse  i'  liquor  yet,  nor  niver  will,  plaze  God  ;  but 
sorra  take  me,  but  I'd  rather  drink  a  glass  or  two  any  day 
with  a  friend,  at  a  fair,  or  market,  an'  go  home  dacent  to 
my  childher,  than  live  lake  a  gentleman  and  be  helped  to 
bed  by  the  sarvints." 

"  Certainly,"  responded  Dowser ;  "  but  you  see  you're 
poor  and  can't  afford  it,  —  it  doesn't  fit  ye  at  all." 

"  Begorra,  an'  it's  jist  bekase  we're  poor  that  we  take  a 
dhoze  when  it's  goin'.  If  we  had  plenty  to  eat  and  wear, 
an'  small  rents  to  pay,  it's  little  we'd  care  for  drinkin' ; 
but  when  a  body  sees  his  childher  naked,  'ithout  a  tatther 
on  them  in  the  cowld  winter,  an'  his  bit  earnin's  that  he 
laid  by,  maybe  to  buy  duds  for  them,  goin'  into  his  land 
lord's  pocket,  that  he  knows  'ill  be  drunk  on  it  afore  a 
week,  what  can  he  do  but  take  a  drap,  when  he  gets  it,  to 
keep  the  sick  heart  from  brakin'  ?  'Am  tould  for  sartin, 
that  in  counthries  where  the  people's  well  aff,  they  don't 
drink  any  a'most.  I  wish  they'd  try  an'  make  iz  comfort 
able  first,  an'  then  make  iz  sober  afther.  Afore  the  parli- 
ment  was  pilthered  away  from  iz,  we  were  sober  and 
dacent  enough,  but  now,  whin  we're  beggars,  av  we  take 
a  glass  at  all,  we're  drunkards." 


282  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

"  It's  bad  to  drink  too  much,"  observed  Dowser,  after 
emptying  the  eggshell. 

"  Mr.  Dowser,"  broke  in  Shandy,  having  adjusted  the 
string  of  his  fiddle,  and  thrown  one  leg  across  the  other, 
"  I  ax  the  favor  av  yer  helpin'  me  to  drink  a  drap  i'  that 
goats'  milk,  to  our  betther  acquaintance." 

"  I'd  rather  wait  a  little,"  replied  Dowser ;  "  I'm  only 
afther  finishin'  —  an'  am  not  jist  as  well  as  I'd  wish." 

But  Shandy  had  his  views  on  Dowser.  He  was  deter 
mined  to  make  him  sleep  sound  that  night,  if  he  should 
never  sleep  again  ;  and  he  knew  that  goats'  milk  and  a 
smart  dance  was  the  best  and  surest  soporific  he  could  ad 
minister  to  his  victim.  He  therefore  fixed  his  eye  steadily, 
and  only  for  an  instant,  on  Dowser,  and  then  said,  in  a 
significant  tone,  — 

"  I  didn't  think  —  I  couldn't  think,  Mr.  Dowser,  ye'd 
put  that  slight  on  me  afore  the  company." 

"Me!  oh,  I  beg  pardon,"  he  replied,  quailing  under  the 
stern  look  of  the  man  he  so  much  dreaded  ;  "  I  beg  par 
don,  sir,  I  didn't  mean  to  —  " 

"  Pish,  nonsense,  drink  it  to  the  bottom,"  he  interrupted, 
"  or  say  at  once  we  are  niver  to  be  friends ; "  and  Shandy 
handed  the  goose  eggshell,  brimming  full  —  for  he  hardly 
tasted  it —  to  Dowser,  on  the  bossag.  The  latter  took 
the  proffered  vessel,  and,  raising  it  reluctantly  to  his  lips, 
drained  the  last  drop.  He  sat  down. 

"  Mr.  Dowser,"  resumed  Shandy,  in  his  usually  banter 
ing  style,  "  is  it  sittin'  down  ye  are,  an'  that  young  lady 
beyont  there  luckin'  at  ye  ?  —  for  shame,  man  !  " 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  Dowser,  smothering  the  sound 
with  his  coat-tail. 

"  Don't  ye  see  she's  luckin'  at  ye  to  ax  her  out  ?  " 

«  At  me  ! " 

"  Av  coorse.  Will  I  give  ye  'The  humors  i'  Glen  ?'  or 
maybe  the  lady  has  a  favorite  of  her  own." 

"  Ye'll  excuse  me,  ma'am,"  said  Dowser,  rising  and  bow- 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  283 

ing  to  a  young  girl  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  who 
was  much  better  dressed  and  rather  more  intelligent-look 
ing  than  the  other  females  of  the  company.  "  Ye'll  excuse 
me,  if  ye  please,  for  there's  mools  on  my  feet  that  I  can 
hardly  thole,  on  account  of  my  shoes  bein'  so  tight  and 
hard  since  I  came  up  here,  for  want  of  regular  soften- 
in'  —  " 

"  Off  with  the  shoes  ! "  shouted  Shandy,  "  in  honor  av 
the  lady,  an'  to  it  in  the  stockins." 

"  Off  with  the  shoes ! "  repeated  Crawmshy. 

"Off  with  them  —  off  with  them!"  echoed  all  the 
voices  in  the  room. 

Dowser  saw  it  was  in  vain  to  resist  the  unanimous  call, 
or  perhaps  the  last  shell  of  goats'  milk  he  drank  was  begin 
ning  to  produce  its  usual  effect  in  rendering  him  more 
agreeable ;  for  lie  stooped,  or  rather  attempted  to  stoop 
and  untie  his  shoestrings.  He  couldn't  do  it — he  might 
as  well  have  attempted  to  reach  his  antipodes ;  but  there 
were  other  willing  hands  at  his  service,  that  soon  relieved 
him  of  the  encumbrance. 

He  rose  up  and  waddled  over,  flushed  and  excited,  to 
where  Miss  Alice  Hegarty  sat,  and  then  politely  addressing 
the  lady,  requested  the  honor  of  her  hand  for  the  dance. 

Alice  smiled  and  consented. 

"  What's  yer  pleasure,  genteels  ?  "  courteously  asked  the 
fiddler,  tuning  his  instrument.  "  Mr.  Dowser,  consult  your 
partner." 

Alice  whispered  something,  blushing  the  while. 

"  The  what,  ma'am?"  inquired  Dowser,  bending  down 
nearer  to  catch  the  words  —  "  the  zephyr  that  makes  — 
eh?" 

Alice  repeated. 

"  Well,  upon  my  conscience,"  returned  Dowser,  looking 
round  the  room,  "if  that's  not  the  first  time  I  heerd  it. 
Is  it  a  reel,  or  a  jig,  or  a  baltiorum  —  or  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  tune  ! "  demanded  Shandy  again. 


284  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OK 

"  The  zephyr  that  makes  —  Ceres  to  tremble,"  responded 
Dowser,  with  some  hesitation  in  trying  to  recollect  it. 

Shandy  laid  the  fiddle  on  his  knee,  and  paused  for  a 
moment  to  think. 

"  Well,"  said  he  at  length,  "  I  can  play  anything  Irish, 
Scotch,  or  musical ;  but  may  I  niver  draw  bow  again,  if 
that  disn't  flagg  me  clean.  'The  zephyr  that'  —  Jim 
Morgan,  yer  the  best  schoolmaster  in  the  three  parishes ; 
can  ye  explain  the  lady's  manin'  ?" 

Jim  stood  up,  and  hemmed  proudly  in  his  consciousness 
of  superior  knowledge.  He  wore  a  goose-quill  always  and 
forever  behind  his  right  ear ;  in  fair  or  market,  at  wake  or 
wedding,  in  school  or  out  of  it,  the  pen  was  there.  He 
used  it  as  a  sort  of  substitute  for  an  A.  M.  or  an  LL.  D. 
His  head  was  covered  with  an  immense  tow-wig,  curled  on 
each  side  with  as  much  neatness  and  precision  as  the  ma 
terial  would  permit  of,  and  descending  behind  in  two  long 
queues  to  the  small  of  his  back.  His  coat  was  black,  but 
very  seedy,  cut  quaker-fashion,  with  a  standing  collar ;  his 
nether  garments  were  velvet-brown  once,  but  now  covered 
with  innumerable  black  stripes,  caused  probably  by  his  con 
tinually  wiping  the  pens  of  his  pupils  before  he  set  them 
their  copies.  Jim  was  now  verging  to  old  age ;  yet  his 
face,  round  and  fat,  showed  but  few  traces  of  the  ravages 
of  years,  and  bore  that  look  of  conscious  power  and  self- 
importance,  which  long  habit  of  command  gives  equally  to 
the  master  at  the  desk  or  the  general  in  the  field.  Jim 
rose  up,  and  took  off  his  spectacles. 

"  I  humbly  opinionate,1  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
"  that  I  can  explicate,  unfold,  or  demonstrate  the  diffi- 
quilty.  I  am  Miss  Hegarty's  preceptor.  She  received, 
under  my  tutelary  auspices,  the  elements  of  locution,  elo 
cution,  circumlocution,  classical  retain ments,  and  pelite 
leterathur.  It  was  from  my  labial  intonations,  or,  to 
descend  to  your  level  in  speaking,  it  was  from  my  lips  she 
was  indoctrianated  in  the  oral  expression  Mr.  Dowser 


TRICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  285 

has  endivored  to  utter  or  enunciate.  I  am  myself,  per 
sonally  and  individially,  the  originating  author  of  that 
learned  phrase  or  locution  — '  The  zephyrs  which  cause 
Ceres  to  tremble.'  These  words  is  positively,  compara 
tively,  and  superlatively  classical,  and  signify  or  import,  in 
common  langige,  such  as  no  lady  should  demane  herself  to 
pronounce,  signify,  '  The  wind  that  shakes  the  barley.' 
And  —  " 

"  That  'ill  do,"  cried  Shandy,  interrupting  Jim's  explana 
tion;  "botherashin  to  yer  zephyrs  —  sure  I  knew  the  auld 
tune  afore  I  could  spake.  Come,  Mr.  Dowser,  lift  yer  feet, 
and  they'll  fall  themselves."  And  Shandy  rattled  away  at 
a  rate  that  might  well  have  struck  fear  to  the  heart  of  a 
man  more  active  than  Dumpy  Dowser. 

We  shall  not  attempt  a  description  of  our  old  friend,  as  he 
shook  his  light  fantastic  toe,  nor  of  his  fair  partner,  as  she 
leaped  and  sprung  round  and  about  him  like  a  moth  round 
a  tallow  candle.  It  suffices  to  say,  that  Dowser  danced 
that  night  as  mortal  man  never  danced  before.  His 
countenance,  excited  though  it  was,  showed  nothing  of  the 
silly  smile  of  the  clown,  or  the  opera-dancer ;  but  whilst 
his  cheeks  shook,  with  a  downward  tendency,  his  aspect 
remained  solemn  and  serious  as  it  became  a  man  of  his 
years  and  standing.  He  neither  jumped  nor  whirled  round 
on  his  heel,  as  was  the  fashion  of  those  days ;  but  he  beat 
the  floor  till  the  very  roof-tree  trembled,  and  the  glass  rat 
tled  in  the  windows.  His  head  was  thrown  back,  in  order 
to  give  his  person  a  more  imposing  and  respectable  port ; 
his  arms  dangled  at  his  sides  like  dead  members  attached 
to  a  living,  moving  body  ;  his  hosed  feet,  far  removed  from 
his  sight,  performed  their  labors  in  retirement  below.  His 
breath  came  from  him  short,  thick,  and  gusty,  like  a  sur 
charged  boiler  letting  off  its  superfluous  steam.  He  no 
longer  heeded  the  perspiration  —  he  permitted  it  to  run 
over  his  face  and  down  upon  his  garments  in  utter  aban 
donment.  Twice  he  whispered  to  Alice  he  could  hold  out 


286  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

no  longer ;  but  there  was  no  mercy :  on  went  the  dance, 
and  up  rose  the  applause  of  the  company.  Dowser,  how 
ever,  began  at  length  to  move  rather  unsteadily,  owing  as 
much,  perhaps,  to  the  goats'  milk  as  to  the  violent  and  ex 
hausting  exercise.  He  made  one  or  two  attempts  to 
catch  Alice's  hands  and  hold  her  still,  in  order  to  termi 
nate  the  dance,  rather  than  have  it  said  forever  after  that 
he  was  obliged  to  abandon  his  partner  on  the  floor ;  but 
he  failed,  stumbled,  and  fell  back  against  the  wall,  and 
thence  slided  down  upon  his  side  —  there  he  lay.  In  a 
moment  he  was  asleep. 

Shandy  laid  the  fiddle  aside  the  instant  Dowser's  body 
reached  the  floor,  and  taking  a  pipe  from  his  pocket,  drew 
his  chair  closer  to  the  fire,  and  requested  Jim  Morgan  to 
walk  out,  and  see  if  he'd  hear  the  colonel's  carriage  coining. 

Jim  soon  returned,  and  answered  in  the  negative; 

"  Well,  well,"  observed  Shandy,  clearing  the  ashes  from 
his  pipe  with  the  blade  of  a  tobacco-knife  —  "the  road's 
bad  up  the  mountain ;  but  come  it  will,  Neal  a  Crawmshy, 
as  sure  as  that  crashin's  on  the  floore,  an'  it's  a  proud  day 
it  ought  to  be  to  ye  an'  the  tenth  generation  afther  ye,  to 
see  a  coach-an'-four  stappin'  at  yer  doore." 

"  Bad  manners  to  me,  Shandy,"  replied  Neal,  "  if  it 
wusn't  daceiit  iv  him  to  sen'  the  coach  afther  sich  a  poor 
lame  disciple  as  me,  an'  all  jist  to  hear  me  tell  the  minis 
ter's  people  av  the  priest's  doins  in  the  confessional.  Well, 
he  must  be  a  tinder-hearted  gentleman  to  the  poor  beg 
gars  that  they  kerry  from  doore  to  doore  on  the  hanbar- 
rows,  when  he's  so  minful  i\  me,  that  has  a  crutch  to  help 
me." 

"  Ye'll  make  a  dacent  speech,  Neal  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Av  coorse,  if  it  was  only  in  regard  i'  the  bit  Ian'  he's  to 
give  me." 

"As  to  house-burnin',  murdher,  an'  reading  the  Bible, 
ye'll  not  go  higher  nor  thirty  shillins  apiece?" 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  287 

"  Oh,  that's  settled  a'ready,  shure." 

"  Well,  for  murdherin'  heretics  ?  " 

"  Why,  eighteen  pence  a  head  for  common  ones,  and 
two-and-sixpence  for  ministers,  is  about  reasonable,  'am 
thinkin'." 

"  An'  for  Bible  Readers  ?  " 

"  Ugh !  as  for  them,  why,  deil  a  one  i'  myself  knows ; 
'am  thinkin'  they  ought  to  be  let  go  as  cheap  as  venial 
sins." 

"  Humph  !"  said  Shandy,  blowing  the  smoke  from  about 
his  face.  "  Well,  I  think  ye'll  do  for  this  time.  Jim  Mor 
gan,"  he  added,  "  give  iz  a  verse  of  a  song  till  the  coach 
comes." 

"  Me ! " 

"  Ay,  you ;  who  else  'id  I  ask,  but  the  man  that  can  make 
songs  and  sing  them  to  boot?  Give  us  a  lilt  av  some- 
thin.'  " 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  assure  ye  my  lungs  have  be 
come  inflammatory  from  exposition  to  cold ;  therefore 
my  vocal  powers  are  entirely  deranged ;  besides,  there's 
a  large  conglomeration  of  tumors  in  my  throat  or  thorax, 
which—" 

"The  song,  the  song  —  the  masther's  song!"  was  now 
heard  from  all  sides,  interrupting  his  apology. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  see  you  are  all  unanimous ; 
so  I  must  retrograde,  and  consent  to  your  wishes.  Will  I 
sing  you  one  of  Carlin's,  or  one  of  my  own  lyrical  and 
classical  compositions  ?  " 

"  Your  own  —  your  own ;  and  let  it  be  somethin'  sweet," 
replied  Shandy. 

"  Then  I'll  give  you  a  little  trifle  I  composed  many  years 
ago,  before  I  was  united  in  the  connubial  bands  at  the 
hymeneal  altar  with  the  late  beloved  and  venerated  Mrs. 
Morgan,  then  commonly  called  Judy,  or  Miss  Judy  Kuclh- 
rigan.  I  named  it 


SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 
THE   COTTAGE   MAID. 


IT  was  in  the  month  of  May, 

When  sweet  lambkins  sport  and  play, 
I  roved  to  receive  a  recreation ; 

I  spied  a  comely  maid 

Sequestered  in  her  shade  — 
On  her  beauty  I  did  gaze  with  admiration. 

ii. 

Telemachus  so  grand, 

Who  o'er  the  sceptre  reached  his  hand, 
Might  be  certainly  trepanned  if  he'd  perceived  her, 

Or  Mentor  her  dissuade 

From  that  sweet  and  simple  shade, 
If  Calypso  by  her  arts  had  not  insnared  her. 


His  sire  would  seek  no  more, 

Nor  descend  on  Mammon's  shore, 
Nor  venture  on  the  tyrant's  dire  alarms ; 

But  he'd  daily  place  his  care 

On  that  emblematic  fair  : 
He  would  barter  coronation  for  her  charms. 


How  delightful  and  divine  ! 

How  benignant  and  benign  ! 
More  delicious  than  the  fragrance  of  Flora ; 

More  slender,  tall,  and  straight, 

Than  the  poets  can  implicate, 
Or  that  celebrated  beauty  called  Pindora. 


To  see  her  rolling  eyes, 

Like  stars  in  azure  skies, 
Or  brave  Scinthia  descending  to  the  ocean ; 

To  see  her  golden  hair 

Hang  on  her  neck  like  lilies  fair  — 
She's  an  ornament  of  beauty  in  proportion. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  289 


But  Mercury,  I  fear, 

On  some  errand  will  draw  near, 
As  he  pilfered  Vulcan's  tools  from  Polyphemus, 

And  bear  away  that  prize 

To  some  other  distant  skies, 
As  he  stole  away  the  girdle  from  Venus. 

vn. 

By  the  ethereal  fire, 

And  music  from  his  choir  — 
By  virtue  of  his  lyre  he  got  his  pardon; 

Sure  he  might  steal  that  fair 

To  some  solitary  sphere, 
Had  not  an  organizing  shepherd  been  her  guardian. 

Here  the  song  was  interrupted  by  a  smart  rat-tat-tap  on 
the  window,  and  a  voice  outside  crying,  "  The  coach !  the 
coach  !  —  it's  comin'  up  the  hill !" 

"Out  with  the  lights!"  commanded  Shandy,  putting  the 
pipe  in  his  pocket.  "  Out  with  them,  an'  home  ivery  sowl 
av  ye.  I  say,  Mr.  Morgan,  will  ye  throw  a  quilt  over 
Dowser  afore  ye  go  ? " 

"  With  very  great  feelings  of  pleasure,"  answered  Jim, 
adjusting  the  covering  over  the  sleeping  lion;  "and  now," 
he  added,  bowing  low  as  he  passed  out  —  "now,  sir,  as  we 
have  given  you  our  mental,  vocal,  and  corporal  assistance 
in  playing  out  the  play,  we  leave  it  to  you,  Mr.  Shandy 
M'Guire,  to  play  the  farce." 
19 


290  SHANDY  M'GTJIKE,    OR 


CHAPTER   XX. 

WHICH  CONTAINS  A  FEW  DRAMATIC  REPRESENTATIONS, 
ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  TIMES  AND  OF 
THE  PEOPLE. 

"  BAXTER,  my  dear,  you  will  accompany  us  to  church 
to-night,  to  hear  Mr.  Sweetsoul  ? "  said  Mrs.  Cantwell  to 
her  husband,  who  had  just  entered  the  drawing-room. 

"  Certainly,  my  love  —  of  course." 

"  Really,  I  am  most  anxious  about  this  affair  of  the  reve 
lations.  If  this  old  man  come  to-night,  he  must  certainly 
create  an  extraordinary  sensation  —  don't  you  think  so, 
Baxter?" 

"Decidedly ;  'twill  be  a  death-blow  to  Popery  in  Ulster." 

"Oh,  dear,  I'm  so  restless  and  expectant  —  I  wish  the 
moment  were  come.  But  tell  me,  Baxter,  is  the  man  old  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  about  sixty,  I'm  informed ;  he  is  one  of  the 
colonel's  tenants." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  Archibald  told  me  so.  But  was  he  looked 
upon  by  his  neighbors  as  a  decent  —  well-behaved  man  up 
to  this  time  ?  " 

"  Very  much  so,  indeed,  if  report  speak  true." 

"  And  hitherto  a  stanch  Romanist  ?  " 

"  Always,  my  dear,  till  the  priest  cursed  him  for  reading 
the  Holy  Bible." 

"I'm  delighted  to  hear  it,  my  dear  Baxter;  for  in  that 
respect  he  will  be  so  very  much  superior  to  the  other  poor 
creatures  you  have  converted  —  in  respect  of  conduct  and 
character,  I  mean  —  that,  in  fact,  his  testimony  must  prove 
very  valuable." 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS .  291 

"  Yet,  my  dear,  you  must  not  look  upon  such  testimony 
as  at  all  necessary.  You  must  not  forget  that  we  have 
known  long  ago  all  and  more  than  this  Crawpshy  can  re 
veal  of  the  confessional  and  its  abominations." 

"  True ;  but  up  to  this  time  we  never  have  succeeded  in 
inducing  a  convert  of  any  reputation  or  standing  in  the 
community  to  make  these  disclosures  before  the  public.  Is 
not  it  so  ?  " 

The  parson  hemmed  and  hawed  a  little,  and  then  artic 
ulated,  somewhat doubtingly, "Father Mortimer  Sattinam" 

"Nonsense,  Baxter,"  returned  his  wife,  looking  reprov 
ingly  at  him ;  "  you  know  very  well,  already,  how  I  value 
his  testimony.  I  tell  you  again,  I  wouldn't  give  a  straw 
for  the  testimony  of  a  'suspended  priest.'  " 

"You  wouldn't?" 

"No  —  were  he  a  man  of  good  moral  character,  would 
he  have  been  suspended  ?  Certainly  not.  And  if — as  is 
really  the  fact  —  if  a  suspended  priest  be  degraded  even  in 
the  estimation  of  his  clerical  brethren  —  themselves  de 
graded  and  contemptible  as  they  are,  what,  I  ask,  are  we 
to  expect  of  him?  Why,  nothing  but  slanders  and  calum 
nies  on  the  ckurch  from  the  ministry  of  which  he  was 
driven  —  partly,  perhaps,  in  revenge  for  his  disgrace,  but 
chiefly  to  win  his  way  to  our  sympathy  and  protection 
through  what  he  regards  as  our  bigotry  and  prejudices. 
Baxter,  I  can  have  no  patience  when  I  hear  you  exulting 
over  the  conversion  of  a  suspended  priest." 

The  reader  will  not  have  failed  to  perceive  that  Mrs. 
Cantwell,  in  the  few  last  observations  she  made,  was  not 
speaking  from  conviction,  but  merely  pursuing  her  usual 
course,  that  of  catching  at  any  point  of  the  conversation  on 
which  she  could  hang  an  argument  for  dispute  or  con 
troversy  with  her  husband.  Had  she  examined  her  own 
heart  at  that  moment,  she  would  find  it  filled  with  such 
strong  antipathies  and  bitter  prejudices  against  the  Catholic 
church,  that  she  would  gladly  have  welcomed  to  her  home 


292  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,   OR 

and  her  fireside  the  veriest  scoundrel  that  ever  disgraced 
the  "  stole  and  surplice,"  provided  lie  were  clever  enough 
to  fabricate  lies  and  devise  calumnies  against  the  "  Mother" 
he  abandoned.  But  strong  as  were  her  religious  antipa 
thies,  her  love  of  contradiction  was  still  stronger ;  and  she 
indulged  it  frequently  beyond  all  measure.  In  the  present 
instance,  however,  she  was  unusually  moderate,  owing 
perhaps  to  her  pleasurable  anticipations,  which  being  large 
and  very  sanguine,  filled  up  a  great  portion  of  her  heart, 
leaving  only  a  small  corner  for  the  spirit  of  contradiction 
to  dwell  in.  Let  us  proceed. 

"My  dear,"  quietly  observed  the  parson,  in  reply  to  her 
last  observation,  "  many  priests  have  abandoned  Popery 
from  a  solemn  conviction  of  its  errors." 

"And  who  are  they?" 

"  Why,  there's  Mr.  Crowland,  for  instance." 

"  Pish  —  nonsense,  Baxter ;  he  was  driven  from  his 
chair  of  Physics,  and  afterwards  expelled  the  college. 
'Twas  indignation  and  a  spirit  of  revenge  that  made  him 
a  Protestant." 

"  Well,  there's  Hoganald  —  what  think  you  of  him  ?  " 

"  Worse  and  worse.  He  wanted  a  wife*and  a  fortune. 
He  got  both  before  he  was  a  month  in  training.  Hoga 
nald  !  why,  my  dear  sir,  he  had  been  paying  his  addresses 
to  his  first  wife  while  yet  officiating  at  the  altar.  'Twas 
for  that  his  bishop  suspended  him." 

"  Well,  but,  my  dear  —  " 

"  Well,  but  listen  to  me  for  a  moment.  These  men 
may  answer  our  purpose  notwithstanding  the  baseness  and 
selfishness  of  their  motives.  We  can  very  well  use  them 
as  instruments  to  build  up  the  interests  of  the  church  as 
best  we  may,  since  we  can  find  neither  better  nor  honester 
at  hand  ;  but,  for  heaven's  sake,  let  us  not  make  fools  of 
ourselves  in  giving  them  credit  for  more  than  they  deserve. 
Let  the  public,  if  you  please,  be  edified  by  the  sacrifices 
they  have  made  for  the  maintenance  of  truth  and  the 


THICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  293 

destruction  of  error;  but  let  not  us  at  least,  who  know 
them,  be  the  dupes  of  their  hypocrisy.  And  now,  my 
dear  Baxter,"  continued  the  lady  —  "a  truce  with  this 
argument,  and  let  us  speak  of  matters  more  immediate. 
Don't  you  think  the  priest  in  town  here  —  Father  Dom- 
nick  they  call  him,  I  believe  —  don't  you  think  he  must  be 
very  much  ashamed  of  his  religion  when  he  hears  of  this 
old  man  Crawpshy  having  exposed  him  and  it  before  the 
congregation,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  not  the  least ;  priests  forswear  all  shame 
at  their  ordination." 

"  Why,  Baxter,  surely  you  cannot  be  serious  —  forswear 
it!" 

"  And  on  what  other  supposition,  I  pray,  can  you  ac 
count  for  their  brazen-faced  audacity  in  setting  a  price  on 
absolution,  varying  directly  as  the  sin  —  that  is,  from  eigh 
teen  pence  to  thirty  shillings  ?  There  cannot  be  the  least 
doubt  of  it,  my  dear  wife." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Colonel  Templeton.  His  dress  was  an  elegant  after- 
dinner  suit  of  black.  His  look  was  less  grave  than  usual, 
and  bespoke  a  man  well  ple'ased  with  himself.  His  thin 
locks  were  arranged  with  order  and  regularity  over  his 
bald  crown  and  round  his  temples,  so  that  very  little  of 
the  enamelled  covering  could  be  seen  beneath.  The 
colonel  had  evidently  paid  particular  attention  to  his  toilet 
this  evening,  probably  with  the  view  of  showing  of  how 
much  importance  he  considered  the  religious  services  in 
which  he  was  that  night  about  to  take  a  part. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Cantwell,"  said  he,  approaching  the  lady 
and  taking  her  by  the  hand,  "  I  merely  looked  in  to  say 
that  I'm  going  down  town  to  visit  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sweet- 
soul,  and  to  make  such  arrangements  with  him  as  may  be 
necessary  in  the  event  of  Crawpshy's  appearance  at  church 
to-night." 

"  And,  my  dear  colonel,  do  you  confidently  expect  him  ?  " 


294  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

"Without  fail.  He  holds  a  little  farm  from  me,  you 
know,  and  I'm  sure  is  too  prudent  to  run  the  risk  of  my 
displeasure  by  attempting  anything  like  deception.  Be 
sides,  the  old  man  made  his  terms  with  me  carefully  and 
cautiously,  like  one  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  meet 
the  difficulty,  if  any  such  is  to  be  expected  from  the  Cath 
olics." 

"You  have  sent  the  coach  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  was  one  of  his  conditions." 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  said  the  lady  with  a  pitying  look,  her 
head  bent  to  one  side,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  colonel's ; 
"  how  awkward  he  must  feel  when  he  comes  out  to  address 
the  congregation !  Really,  I  pity  him,  colonel ;  he  has  a 
hard  task  before  him ;  but  then  the  consciousness  of  a 
high  and  holy  purpose  will  bear  him  triumphantly  through 
the  difficulty.  When  is  he  to  arrive  at  the  church?  " 

"  At  eight  o'clock  precisely.  As  soon  as  he  arrives,  I 
am  to  be  apprised  of  it,  and  then,  with  Mr.  Sweetsoul's 
permission,  shall  take  the  liberty  of  preparing  the  congre 
gation  by  a  short  address  for  the  secrets  that  are  about  to 
be  revealed.  This  may  be  necessary,  as  the  man's  sudden 
appearance  before  the  communion-table  might  create 
alarm." 

"  Very  thoughtful  of  you,  indeed,  colonel.  And  then, 
besides  this  old  man,  we  shall  have  quite  a  number  of  other 
converts.  Oh  !  it  affords  me  such  delight  to  find  you  here 
to  witness  the  joyful  spectacle.  Poor  Kathleen  Kennedy  ! 
she  was  here  yesterday  with  her  two  beautiful  children ; 
and  really,  colonel,  you  cannot  conceive  what  pleasure  we 
took  —  Miss  Cantwell  and  I  —  in  decking  them  out  with 
their  new  dresses  ;  they  look  admirably.  Oh,  that  Kath 
leen  is  quite  a  nice  creature  —  is  not  she,  colonel  ?" 

"Very,  indeed.  But  I  cannot  conceive  what  reason  she 
can  have  for  disliking  Mr.  Goodsoul  so  much." 

"Does  she  dislike  him  ?  "  inquired  the  parson. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  she  dislikes  him  exceedingly.     Ha, 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  295 

ha,  ha!  poor  innocent  thing!  how  I  laughed  when  she  told 
me  her  reason.     It's  very  amusing  —  is  it  not,  colonel  ?  " 

"  What  is  it?"  inquired  the  parson. 

"  Why,  she  thinks  Mr.  Goodsoul  was  rather  free  in  his 
mode  of  consolation." 

«  Free  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  imagines  he  was  too  kind  and  tender  in  his 
expressions  of  sympathy  with  her  in  her  distressed  and 
lonely  condition.  Ha,  ha!  poor  dear  man  —  the  saintly 
pious  creature !  how  pained  he  should  feel  if  he  knew  how 
she  regarded  him." 

"  Colonel,  may  we  hope  for  the  honor  of  your  company 
in  our  carriage,  after  your  return  from  Mr.  Sweetsoul's  ?  " 

The  colonel  declined,  and  then,  after  a  moment's  com- 
plhnent,  quitted  the  apartment. 

"  Colonel,  colonel ! "  cried  Mrs.  Cantwell,  running  after 
him,  "  may  it  not  be  necessary  to  have  police  stationed  at 
the  church  to  protect  the  poor  old  man  ?  If  these  dread 
ful  Ribbonmen  hear  of  his  intention,  they  may  break  open 
the  coach." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Cantwell,"  replied  Colonel  Templeton, 
"  I  have  already  given  orders  to  that  effect.     Good  by." 
****** 

Thursday  night  was  cold,  calm,  and  dark.  Not  a  breath 
of  air  stirred  the  withered  leaves  in  the  little  shrubbery 
that  surrounded  the  Methodist  meeting-house  in  the  village 
of  Donegal.  Not  a  star  was  to  be  seen  throughout  the 
whole  wide  expanse  above,  and  the  air  was  so  motionless 
that  nature  might  have  seemed,  to  the  overstrained  imagi 
nation  of  the  religious  enthusiast,  to  have  rested  from  its 
functions,  and  paused  to  listen  in  silence  to  the  awful  dis 
closures  of  that  night.  Secrets  involving  the  best  interests 
of  society —  secrets  said  to  be  closely  connected  with  the 
immortal  destinies  of  man  —  secrets  that  had  lain  hid  for 
nearly  two  thousand  years  were  about  to  be  revealed.  A 
secret  tribunal,  claiming  its  appointment  and  authority 


296  SHANDY    M'GUIRE,    OR 

from  on  high,  had,  for  century  after  century,  with  auda 
cious  presumption,  and  unmitigated  pertinacity,  presumed, 
in  the  face  of  the  world,  and  in  contempt  of  all  remon 
strance,  to  lay  hold  of  men's  very  souls,  and  crush  them 
down  into  a  slavish  submission  to  its  will.  That  tribunal 
was  to  be  exposed  and  denounced. 

The  meeting-house  was  brilliantly  lighted  up  — so  much 
so,  indeed,  that  a  stranger,  passing  by,  would  naturally 
inquire  if  such  preparation  did  not  denote  some  extraor 
dinary  rejoicings  within.  The  light  from  the  various  win 
dows,  and  from  the  front  door,  streamed  out  in  floods  upon 
the  street,  giving  to  the  idlers  round  about  a  full  view  of 
the  different  members  of  the  congregation  as  they  passed 
in  to  the  service.  On  either  side  of  the  short  avenue,  be 
tween  the  outer  gate  and  the  church  door,  was  placed,  a 
single  file  of  police,  and  outside,  the  commanding  officer, 
with  a  sergeant's  guard. 

Colonel  Templeton,  arm  in  arm  with  the  Rev.  Jejjediah 
Sweetsoul,  was  among  the  first  who  made  their  appearance 
at  the  gate.  As  they  passed  in,  the  police  presented  arms 
to  the  colonel. 

Shortly  after,  came  the  Rev.  Baxter  Cantwell's  coach, 
containing  his  reverence  himself,  his  wife,  his  maiden  sister 
Rebecca,  and  Kathleen  Kennedy. 

Then  came  a  number  of  country  jaunting  cars,  and  car 
nages  of  all  shapes,  forms,  and  capacities,  carrying  ladies 
and  gentlemen  in  dark  dresses,  of  demure  looks  and  as 
cetic  aspects ;  after  these  came  the  town's  people,  in  parties 
of  two  and  three,  walking  at  a  slow  pace,  silent,  and 
meditative. 

When  all  the  pews  of  the  regular  members  were  found 
to  be  occupied,  permission  was  given  to  the  officer  in 
charge  of  the  gate  to  admit  indiscriminately  all  who  were 
anxious  to  be  present.  It  was  also  intimated  to  him  as 
coming  from  Colonel  Templeton,  that  if  a  coach  should 
arrive  at  the  gate  about  8^  o'clock,  it  should  be  admitted 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  297 

within  the  walls,  and  up  as  far  as  the  church  door,  and 
there  guarded  until  further  orders. 

Colonel  Templeton  sat  in  the  same  pew  with  the  Cant- 
wells  and  their  convert  protege.  The  house  was  full  to 
the  very  doors ;  even  the  aisles  were  crowded  half-way 
up  to  the  communion-table.  The  front  seats  were  reserved 
for  the  most  respectable  of  the  Episcopalian  auditors,  such 
as,  the  colonel,  the  Cantwells,  the  Liscaddens,  &c. ;  the 
congregation  proper  occupied  the  middle  section,  or  body 
of  the  church,  and  the  rear  was  left  for  the  accommodation 
of  strangers  without  distinction  of  sect. 

After  the  Rev.  Jejjediah  Sweetsoul  had  entertained  the 
auditory  for  some  forty  minutes,  with  a  sermon  on  justify 
ing  grace,  in  which  he  proved,  to  the  satisfaction  of  every 
body,  the  impossibility  of  man  doing  any  meritorious  act 
of  religion  without  the  unctioning  and  indwelling  of  the 
spirit,  he  sat  down.  Daring  an  interval  of  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  after,  there  was  unbroken  silence  —  if,  indeed,  we 
might  except  a  slight  chirping  whisper  in  the  direction  of 
the  door.  Then  a  figure  was  observed  slowly  rising  within 
a  little  distance  of  the  place  where  Colonel  Templeton  sat. 
The  figure  was  that  of  Mr.  Liscadden,  a  gentleman  to 
whom  the  reader  has  already  been  presented  at  the  Orange 
Lodge.  He  looked  round  him  for  the  space  of  a  minute, 
as  if  he  wished  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  meeting  — 
whether,  in  fact,  it  was  deserving  the  important  communi 
cation  he  was  about  to  make.  Having  satisfied  himself  on 
that  point,  he  began  by  announcing  with  much  solemnity 
"  that  he  had  experienced  religion  three  weeks  ago,  but 
owing  to  his  absence  from  home  and  an  overpress  of  busi 
ness  in  the  pork  trade,  in  which  he  was  largely  concerned, 
he  had  not  had  an  opportunity  hitherto  of  offering  his  case 
to  the  consideration  of  his  brethren. 

"  I  have  been  a  sinner,  my  brethren,"  said  he ;  "  in  the 
ways  of  the  wicked  one  have  my  steps  been  straying  for  a 
long  time  —  yet  though  the  spirit  had  not  made  his  dwell- 


298  SHANDY  M'GTJIRE,    OR 

ing  within,  nevertheless  he  dwelt  not  afar  off.  He  was 
always  near  unto  me,  and  preserved  me  even  amidst  the 
dangers  that  environed  me  round  about.  I  had  not  en 
tirely  fallen,  for  as  yet  I  was  conscious  to  myself  of  no 
sinfulness  of  act,  but  only  of  indifference  to  grace.  I  have 
been  very  unsuccessful  in  my  commercial  affairs ;  yet,  not 
withstanding  the  temporal  courts  of  justice  have  called  me 
swindler,  nevertheless  my  conscience  doth  not  reprove  me. 
Indeed,  I  have  continually  yearned  after  the  indwelling, 
and  have  prayed  much,  both  in  the  day  and  in  the  night, 
that  light  might  visit  my  soul,  and  lo!  my  brethren,  it 
came  in  a  most  wonderful  manner.  One  evening,  after 
entertaining  some  of  the  elect  of  the  Lord  at  dinner,  I 
retired  to  my  little  back  parlor  in  order  to  derive  conso 
lation  from  the  holy  book,  when  behold  !  I  felt  a  sad  weari 
ness  coming  over  rny  senses,  and  then  a  darkness  envel 
oped  me  like  unto  a  black  cloud,  which  the  eye  of  the 
body  could  not  penetrate ;  presently  I  slumbered,  and  then 
a  vision  appeared  to  me  in  my  sleep  and  said  unto  me  - — 
'  Arise,  child  of  sighs  and  sorrows,  and  go  to  thy  brother 
Luther  and  commune  with  his  spirit  in  prayer,  and  thou 
shalt  be  released  from  the  bandages  of  sin.'  I  know  not 
how  long  I  may  have  lain,  but  when  I  awoke  it  was  far 
advanced  in  the  evening.  I  then  arose,  and,  as  the  vision 
had  directed,  I  wended  my  way  to  my  brother  Luther, 
who  was  himself  converted  but  a  few  weeks  before  from 
sin  unto  righteousness.  He  was  engaged  with  his  friends 
when  I  entered  his  house,  enjoying  those  little  comforts 
that  are  so  necessary  to  the  support  of  our  weak,  carnal 
nature.  I  begged  him  to  retire  with  me  to  an  inner  apart 
ment,  and  there  supplicated  him  as  a  child  of  election  and 
grace  to  leave  his  brethren  for  a  little  short  hour,  and  com 
mune  with  me  in  prayer  that  the  bandages  of  sin  might  be 
loosened,  and  that  I  might  walk,  like  him,  in  renovated 
strength.  But  behold,  my  brethren,  he  waxed  wroth  be 
cause  I  had  disturbed  him  —  even  in  obedience  to  the 


TRICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  299 

vision  ;  and  then  he  laughed  at  me  immoderately,  and  said 
I  was  a  hypocrite :  presently  he  left  the  room,  saying  as 
he  passed  away  — '  Go  to  Beelzebub,  and  pray  for  thy 
self.'  " 

As  the  last  words  were  uttered,  confused  murmurs  of 
disapprobation  were  heard  near  the  speaker,  which,  owing 
to  the  distance  and  the  rather  low  tone  in  which  he  spoke, 
the  elect  in  the  gallery  mistook  for  signs  of  joy  and  exul 
tation,  and  therefore  immediately  began  to  cry  "out  as  usual 
—  "  Holy  !  holy !  "  etc. ;  whereupon  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sweet- 
soul  stood  up  and  motioned  them  to  silence. 

Mr.  Liscadden  resumed  — 

"I  saw  my  brother  had  again  fallen,  and  therefore  I  was 
greatly  bewildered  and  troubled  in  mind,  for  I  began  to 
fear  lest  the  vision  might  not  have  been  from  above.  Yet 
I  took  courage,  and  hearing  on  my  return  home  that  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Sweetsoul,  our  learned  and  saintly  minister, 
would  hold  forth  that  night  at  Lacken,  I  put  the  word  un 
der  my  arm  and  wended  my  way  thither  on  foot ;  and  lo ! 
when  I  approached  near  unto  the  place,  I  felt  a  great 
weighing  down  of  the  body,  yea,  so  that  I  was  fain  to  sit 
by  the  wayside ;  and  presently  the  spirit,  I  know  not 
whether  of  light  or  darkness,  began  to  struggle  within  and 
tear  me  violently,  so  that  my  eyes  were  blinded :  and  be 
hold  !  I  waxed  weaker  and  weaker  in  the  flesh,  even  unto 
fainting.  I  lay  upon  the  wayside  by  a  stream,  which  I 
feared  to  fall  into,  for  I  was  not  able  to  help  myself;  but 
I  was  preserved  from  destruction,  for  a  powerful  hand  was 
over  me  to  lift  me  up.  There  I  had  a  trance.  I  know  not 
how  long  it  might  have  lasted ;  but,  oh !  brethren,  when  I 
awoke  what  a  sight  met  my  view  !  All  was  changed  —  it 
was  dark,  and  though  the  eyes  of  the  flesh  could  see  noth 
ing,  yet  with  the  eyes  of  faith  and  of  the  spirit  that  had 
taken  possession  of  my  inward  man,  I  saw  before  me  as 
clearly  as  in  a  glass,  there  on  the  surface  of  the  stream,  the 
bandages  of  sin  and  unrighteousness  with  which  I  was  en- 


300  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,    OR 

compassed  floating  down  —  away  —  away  into  the  river  of 
oblivion ;  and  then  I  felt  the  inspiration  of  the  spirit  of 
light  come  upon  me,  and  mark  me  with  the  sign  of  elec 
tion." 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Sweetsoul  when  the  speaker  sat  down, 
—  "  now,"  said  he,  giving  a  signal  to  the  people,  "  you  may 
rejoice  and  be  glad,  for  mercy  hath  been  shown  unto  a 
sinner." 

The  signaj  was  promptly  obeyed.  Joy  and  thanksgiv 
ing  resounded  from  every  corner  of  the  church.  When 
the  noise  had  entirely  subsided,  our  old  friend  Mr.  Good- 
soul,  who  was  a  Class-leader  as  well  as  Bible  Reader,  stood 
up  in  his  place  and  asked  whether  any  brother  or  sister 
wished  to  be  prayed  for.  He  paused  for  a  minute  or  so, 
but  no  one  answered.  Then  he  opened  the  pew-door  and 
proceeded  up  the  aisle  towards  the  communion-table, 
putting  the  questions  usual  on  such  occasions,  to  different 
individuals  on  either  side  as  he  passed  along,  namely  — 
"How  did  they  feel,  and  whether  they  had  experienced  re- 


Mr.  Goodsoul  was  dressed  in  black,  just  as  we  have  al 
ready  described  him,  —  nothing  white  about  his  person  but 
the  eternal  cravat —  high,  stiff,  and  immovable  as  ever.  His 
bearing  and  port,  however,  on  this  occasion  were  rather 
more  imposing  and  solemn  than  we  ever  remember  to  have 
seen  them  before.  He  had  already  put  the  usual  questions 
and  received  the  usual  answers  from  five  or  six  regular 
church-members,  when  he  stopped  before  a  man  who,  judg 
ing  from  his  contour,  was  evidently  neither  a  Methodist 
nor  mucli  at  ease  on  the  velvet-cushioned  pew.  He  was 
of  middle  age,  but  gaunt  and  poverty-stricken ;  and  his 
clothes,  though  quite  new,  were  too  large  by  half  for  his 
sinking,  attenuated  frame.  He  was  a  convert,  clothed  by 
the  Kild are-street  Society,  and  had  just  made  his  first  ap 
pearance  in  a  religious  Protestant  assembly.  Mr.  Good- 
soul  accosted  him. 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  301 

"How  do  you  feel,"  said  Goodsoul,  bending  down  his 
head  to  the  poor  man,  —  "  how  do  you  feel,  Mr.  Cashidy  ?  " 

"  Eah  !  "  ejaculated  Cashidy,  looking  up  at  the  speaker. 

"  I  am  asking  you  how  do  you  feel  ?  "  repeated  Good- 
soul  in  a  louder  tone,  for  the  man  was  somewhat  deaf. 

"  Well,  fegs  then,  Mr.  Goodsoul  dear,  in  regard  i'  the 
health,  'am  not  jist  as  well  as  I  ust  to  be;  this  shortness  i' 
breath's  rackin'  me  to  pieces ;  but  how  is  yerself,  sir,  and 
the  wife  an'  weans  ?  " 

"  Hush,"  said  Goodsoul;  "  I  don't  mean  that;  but  how  do 
you  feel  after  the  sermon  and  prayers  —  how  is  your  heart 
affected?" 

"  Well,  dear  be  praised,  my  heart's  soun'  enough,  'am 
thinkin';  but  them  dhrugs  I  took  from  the  docthor  a'most 
finished  me ;  an'  then  in  regard  i'  cochin'  an'  spittin',  it's  a 
miracle  'am  livin'  at  all." 

"  Have  you  experienced  religion  ?  "  persisted  Goodsoul. 

"Sir?" 

The  question  was  repeated  in  somewhat  clearer  terms. 

"  Well,  if  it  be's  the  custom  av  the  place,  why,  av  coorse 
I'll  try  to  experinse  as  well  as  the  rest  i'  ye's,  set  in  case  ye 
show  me  how  it's  to  be  done,"  replied  Cashidy,  innocently 
supposing  it  as  easy  to  experience  religion  as  to  teach  a 
child  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

Goodsoul  saw  the  utter  inutility  of  further  questioning, 
and  accordingly  passed  on  to  the  next,  and  the  next,  until 
he  came  at  length  to  Kathleen  Kennedy.  She  sat  at  the 
end  of  the  pew  next  the  aisle,  her  head  bent  down,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  on  something  she  held  in  her  hand.  When 
Goodsoul  stopped  beside  her  she  knew  he  was  there,  but 
did  not  raise  her  head.  She  sat  there  the  very  impersona 
tion  of  shame  —  shame  that  she  had  not  suffered  herself 
and  her  children  to  starve,  and  Ned  to  rot  in  jail,  rather 
than  save  them  at  such  a  sacrifice  to  her  conscience  — 
shame  that  every  one  must  regard  her  new  garments  as  the 
wages  of  her  apostasy  from  the  faith  she  was  born  in. 


302  SHANDY  M4GUIEE,    OK 

"  How  do  you  feel,  Mrs.  Kennedy  ?  "  said  Goodsoul,  bend 
ing  low  and  speaking  softly  to  her. 

Kathleen  remained  bowed  and  silent.  She  was  praying 
against  temptation  —  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  little  cru 
cifix  attached  to  her  beads. 

"  Mrs.  Kennedy,  do  you  not  know  me  ? "  whispered 
Goodsoul,  —  "look  up  and  answer  me." 

Kathleen  was  still  silent.  She  did  not  like  Goodsoul, 
and  therefore  would  not  answer  such  a  question  as  he  put 
to  her.  She  remembered  he  had  often  spoken  to  her  in 
what  she  believed  to  be  a  very  indelicate  and  unbecoming 
manner.  "  Was  it  possible,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  could 
so  far  forget  himself  as  to  repeat  his  impertinence  in  so 
public  a  place  ?  " 

Goodsoul  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Kathleen," 
said  he,  whispering  almost  in  her  ear,  "  speak  to  me,  and 
tell  me  how  you  feel." 

"Feel!"  repeated  Kathleen. 

"  Yes,  how  does  your  heart  feel,  after  —  " 

"  Whisht,"  muttered  Kathleen,  "  shure  yer  in  the  church, 
and  the  people's  luckin'  at  ye." 

Goodsoul  heeded  not  her  words,  but  pressing  his  hand 
upon  his  heart  as  a  sign  of  his  meaning,  again  repeated  the 
question. 

Kathleen  could  no  longer  bear  the  fancied  insult.  Her 
pure,  untainted  Irish  blood  rose  up  rushing  to  her  face, 
when  she  heard  what  she  understood  as  an  outrage  upon 
her  virtue.  No  longer  the  simple,  timid,  bashful  Kathleen, 
she  was  now  the  proud,  indignant  woman;  she  was  but  a 
beggar  in  the  estimation  of  the  world,  yet  at  that  moment 
she  was  a  queen  in  her  own.  Up  she  sprang  as  quick  as 
thought,  and  snatching  the  beads  with  her  left  hand,  she 
struck  the  unconscious  Bible  Reader  with  the  open  palm 
of  the  right  such  a  blow  upon  the  cheek  as  startled  the 
whole  assembly  by  its  sharp,  peculiar  click,  and  sent  the 
pious  man  reeling  back  against  the  opposite  bench. 


TRICKS   UPON  TEAVELLEES.  303 

"  Take  that,"  she  cried,  «  ye  dhirty,  desavin',  mane  black 
guard  — "  the  remainder  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  voices 
from  the  back  seats. 

"What's  this  — what's  the  meaning  of  this?"  vocif 
erated  Colonel  Templeton,  rushing  past  the  Cantwells  to 
where  Kathleen  was  standing  with  a  flushed  face  and  an 
eye  of  fire.  "  Silence,  there  !  "  he  shouted  —  "  police,  I 
command  you  to  maintain  silence." 

"  I'll  have  none  av  his  dhirty  insiniashins,"  continued 
Kathleen,  heedless  of  the  colonel's  question. 

"  What  insinuations  do  you  mean,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"  It  wasn't  enough  for  him  to  be  pittin'  them  questions 
to  me  at  home,  but  he  must  do  it  here,  too,  in  the  very 
meetin'-house  afore  the  company.  Ah,  bad  luck  to  him, 
the  thief;  shure  the  dhirty  drap's  in  him,  any  way." 

"  Explain  —  explain  !  "  cried  the  colonel.  "  Keep  silence 
there,  or  leave  the  house.  Police,  do  your  duty.  Explain 
this  affair,  woman,  or  you'll  suffer  for  it.  Mr.  Goodsoul, 
what  are  we  to  understand  by  all  this?" 

"  Let  me  out  —  let  me  out  i'  this  !  "  shouted  Kathleen  ; 
"  let  me  out  this  minit,"  she  repeated,  breaking  away  from 
Mrs.  Cantwell,  and  forcing  open  the  pew  door ;  "  av  that 
be  the  kin'  av  religion  ye  have,  ye  may  keep  it  to  yersels, 
an'  much  good  may  ye  do  with  it.  The  dhirty,  mane 
blackguard,  to  be  strivin'  to  deludher  me  in  the  church  afore 
the  company !  " 

The  noise  and  confusion  had  now  become  completely 
uncontrollable,  the  entire  congregation  rising  up  in  their 
pews  and  on  the  benches,  each  asking  his  neighbor  in  vain 
for  an  explanation. 

"There's  yer  bonnet,  Mrs.  Cantwell,"  cried  Kathleen, 
breaking  the  ribbons  that  tied  it  under  her  chin,  and  fling 
ing  it  into  the  pew  ;  "  an'  there's  yer  shawl,"  she  continued, 
flinging  it  also ;  "  an'  there's  yer  shoes,"  she  added,  kick 
ing  them  off  in  the  aisle.  "  I'll  sen'  ye  this  gown  too  whin 
I  go  home,  and  get  some  other  duds  to  pit  on  me.  Ye 


304  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OR 

may  do  as  ye  plaze,  colonel,  but  I'll  never  darken  a  church 
door  again  as  long's  rny  name's  Kathleen  Kennedy." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  her  to  pass,  at  Colonel  Tem- 
pleton's  request,  and  the  high-minded,  pure-hearted  Kath 
leen  quitted  the  church,  leaving  behind  her,  with  her  cast- 
off  garments,  all  hope  of  relief  for  her  husband  and  chil 
dren,  and  carrying  with  her  her  only  consolation  amidst 
her  trials  and  sufferings  —  her  cross  and  beads. 

When  order  had  been  restored,  and  the  auditory  again 
put  on  that  grave  look  so  peculiar  to  the  sect,  a  servant  in 
livery  passed  up  the  aisle,  and  delivered  a  verbal  message 
to  Colonel  Templeton,  who  immediately  rose  up  in 
his  place,  and  addressed  the  meeting  in  the  following 
words :  — 

"Brethren  in  the  faith,"  said  he,  "I  am  exceedingly 
pained  to  have  witnessed  the  disgraceful  scene  that  has 
just  taken  place  in  this  temple  of  religion  and  peace.  The 
woman  who  caused  this  unseemly  commotion,  was  brought 
here  in  the  spirit  of  Christian  charity,  that  she  might  learn 
piety  and  true  devotion  from  the  lips  of  the  saintly  and 
God-fearing  servant  of  the  Gospel  who  has  so  eloquently 
and  fervently  addressed  you  to-night.  We  had  hoped 
good  things  of  her  —  indeed,  she  seemed  to  us  a  woman 
who  thirsted  after  the  living  waters,  and  longed  to  be 
enrolled  amongst  the  children  of  promise ;  but  she  has 
deceived  us.  At  the  moment  her  heart  should  have  been 
open  to  the  grace  of  conversion,  it  was  only  filled  with 
anger  and  hatred  of  an  innocent  man.  Yet  this  disgrace 
ful  scene  did  not  originate  with  her ;  no,  my  friends,  it 
was  planned  and  brought  about  by  the  priest ;  the  woman 
was  but  the  instrument  in  his  hands.  It  was  intended  to 
be  a  set-off  against  the  revelations  which  one  of  his  pa 
rishioners  is  to  make  here  to-night.  But,  my  brethren, 
we  can  easily  afford  to  forgive  this  outrage,  when  we  re 
flect  that  it  was  perpetrated  as  a  last  resource  to  prevent 
exposure  —  as  a  plan  to  break  up  our  meeting.  The  old 


TRICKS    UPON    TRAVELLERS.  305 

man  who  now  sits  in  my  coach  at  the  door,  and  who  will 
be  introduced  to  you  in  a  few  minutes,  is  a  man  of  un 
blemished  reputation ;  he  comes  before  you  to  make  a 
disclosure  of  the  villanies  and  corruptions  of  the  confes 
sional —  to  expose  and  denounce  the  iniquities  of  a  de 
based  and  venal  priesthood.  He  has  resolved  at  length 
to  set  at  defiance  all  the  threats  and  machinations  the 
enemies  of  light  and  truth  have  made  against  him,  and 
boldly  to  denounce  the  harlotry  of  Babylon.  He  will 
declare  to  you  that  the  priest  has  cursed  him  from  the 
altar,  for  having  read  the  Holy  Bible.  (Oh  !  oh !  from 
the  auditory.)  He  will  show  you  that  the  priests  have  set 
a  price  upon  absolution,  varying  directly  as  the  sin,  viz., 
from  one-and-sixpence  to  thirty  shillings  apiece.  (Oh! 
oh  dear  !  with  sighs  intermingled.)  He  will  prove  to  you 
that  absolution  from  the  sin  of  reading  the  Bible  costs  as 
much  as  absolution  from  murder  or  arson,  and  is  classed 
in  the  same  category.  He  will  finally  show  you  that  the 
murder  of  a  Protestant  laic  costs  but  a  shilling,  and  that 
of  a  Protestant  clergyman  but  half  a  crown.  (Here  sighs 
and  tears  of  commiseration  followed  in  large  quantities.) 
He  will  unfold  to  you,  in  fine,  the  most  atrocious  system 
of  depravity  and  demoralization  that  the  human  imagina 
tion  has  ever  conceived.  Listen  with  attention,  my  friends, 
to  the  old  man's  recital;  and  when  he  shall  have  ended, 
do  not  so  much  rejoice  at  the  discomfiture  of  the  enemies 
of  truth,  as  mourn  that  such  wickedness  is  still  to  be  found 
in  the  world,  and  pray  that  the  time  may  soon  come  when 
the  earth  shall  be  purified  from  the  filth  and  pestilence  of 
Romanism,  and  the  souls  of  all  men  illumined  by  the  light 
of  the  holy  Gospel.  I  have  done." 

As  the  colonel  sat  down,  he  made  a  signal  to  his  ser 
vants  to  bring  in  the  convert. 

After  a  brief  interval,  during  which  there  was  breath 
less  silence,  a  servant  came  in  and  told  the  colonel  the 
man  was  quite  helpless,  and  unable  to  walk. 
20 


306  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

"  I  know  it,  sir.     Help  him  into  the  church." 

"I  wouldn't  be  able,  yer  honor;  he  is  very  heavy  and 
unwieldy." 

"  Was  he  helped  into  the  coach  at  Gortnotragh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  do  you  expect  to  see  him  leap  out  without  assist 
ance  ?  Go,  sir,  and  tell  the  coachman  to  assist  you." 

"Yes,  sir,  but—" 

"  Go,  fellow,  and  obey  your  orders  —  am  I  to  command 
twice  ?  " 

The  servant  bowed  respectfully  and  withdrew,  but  re- 
tnrned  in  a  minute  after,  and  again  addressed  his  master. 

"  He  can't  put  a  foot  under  him,  sir." 

"  What !  he  must  be  much  worse  with  rheumatism  than 
when  I  saw  him  last,"  thought  the  colonel ;  "  he  could  then 
walk  with  a  crutch.  Away,  sir,  and  bring  him  in  at  all 
hazards ;  he  cannot  be  so  very  ill." 

"But  he's  disguised,  sir,''  observed  the  servant,  using  a 
slang  term,  of  the  meaning  of  which  the  colonel  was  en 
tirely  ignorant. 

"  Very  well,  sir ;  that's  not  your  business,  but  his,"  said 
the  colonel  sharply  (imagining  as  he  did  that  Crawpshy 
had  disguised  his  person  in  order,  to  avoid  recognition  in 
his  passage  through  the  portico  into  the  church.)  "  Go 
quickly,  sir,  and  bring  him  here.  Are  we  to  wait  all  night 
for  him?" 

The  servant  again  bowed,  and  retired. 

When  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  to  enable  the  convert 
to  make  his  appearance  before  the  assembly,  now  in  fever 
ish  expectation  of  his  presence  and  its  result,  a  low  mur 
mur  intermingled  with  sounds  of  suppressed  laughter  in 
the  direction  of  the  front  door,  began  to  break  in  upon 
the  dead  silence  that  prevailed.  Every  ear  was  instantly 
turned  to  catch  the  sound.  It  did  not  die  away  as  might 
have  been  expected,  but  increased,  becoming  every  instant 
louder  and  louder,  till  at  last  it  grew  into  an  uproarious 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  307 

shout,  and  then  a  protracted  cheer  that  rang  loud  and 
long  through  the  building,  in  the  midst  of  which  Dumpy 
Dowser,  supported  on  his  feet  by  the  colonel's  servants, 
and  pushed  forward  by  the  crowd  of  idlers,  came  driving 
up  shoeless  and  hatless  towards  the  communion-table. 

"  Hurrah  for  the  (hie)  Pope,  and  down  with  King  Wil 
liam!"  cried  Dowser;  "King  B-Billy's  a  rascal,  and  the 
Po-(hic)-Pope's  a  gentleman." 

"  Ould  Neal  Crawpshy's  past  yer  knowin',  colonel ;  he's 
got  so  fat,"  cried  a  voice  from  the  gallery. 

"Mr.  Crawpshy,"  muttered  Dowser,  catching  at  the 
name,  "that  goats'  milk  'id  p-(hic)-poison  a  Turk.  Down 
with  Orange  Billy  — 

'  Cr-(hic)-croppies  rise  up,  for  yer  (hie)  long  enough  down, 
And  we'll  (hie)  scourge  all  the  Orangemen  out  of  the  town. 

Tol-de-rol  (hie)  lol-der-ol  lol-de-rol-i-ror.'  " 

"  Police !  police !  "  shouted  Colonel  Templeton  ;  "  drive 
back  this  rabble  —  out  with  them  at  the  point  of  the  bay 
onet.  How  comes  Mr.  Dowser  here  in  this  state  ?  " 

"Sure  it's  Neal-a-Crawpshy,  yer  honor;  luck  at  him  — 
it's  only  the  dhrapsy  he  has,"  cried  the  same  voice  from  the 
gallery. 

"  William,  William  —  my  dear  William  ! "  screamed  Mrs. 
Dowser,  rushing  from  her  place,  and  clasping  her  husband 
by  the  neck.  "  William,  dear,  I  have  you  again !  Oh, 
thank  goodness,  I  have  you  again  !  " 

"  Kate  —  Kate,  dear,"  said  Dowser,  "  if  that's  your  (hie) 
ghost,  tell  me  at  once." 

"My  ghost!  why,  William,  dear,  it's  your  own  loving, 
living  wife.  Look  up,  and  speak  to  me." 

"  And  how  did  you  (hie)  come  up  here  to  the  moun 
tains,  Kate  —  eh  ?  " 

"Coachman!  I  say,  Rigby!  come  here,  sir!"  vocifer 
ated  Colonel  Templeton  ;  "  is  that  the  man  you  took  into 
the  carriage  at  Gortnotragh  ?  " 


808  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

"  The  very  same,  sir ;  I  looked  in  at  him  before  I  started. 
The  people  there  told  me  his  name  was  Neal  Crawpshy, 
the  man  you  ordered  me  to  bring." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  hear  the  name  of  any  of  the  party  but  one, 
sir." 

"Well,  and  his  name  was —  " 

"  Shandy  M'Guire,  I  think,  or  something  very  like  it." 

"  Death  and  confusion  !  Did  you  not  see  he  was  drunk, 
sir,  when  you  put  him  in  ?  —  answer  me,  fellow." 

"  I  didn't  put  him  in,  please  yer  honor;  they  did,  whilst 
I  was  lighting  my  pipe." 

"Begone  from  my  sight !  "  thundered  the  colonel,  half- 
choked  with  rage.  "  I  shall  dismiss  you  to-morrow,  you 
careless  scoundrel." 

"  William,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dowser,  coaxingly,  "  rise  up, 
and  come  home — do  now." 

"  They  won't  let  me,  Kate  —  I  tell  you  (hie)  they  won't ; 
they'll  starve  me  here  on  lumpers  an'  (hie)  goats'  milk  — 
whist !  there's  that  fellow  listening." 

"Who,  dear?" 

"That  villain,  Shandy  M'Guire  (hie) — he'll  want  me 
to  dance  again  (hie)  — he'll  be  the  death  of  me  yet,  Kate." 

Colonel  Templeton  now  stood  leaning  against  a  bench 
at  some  distance  from  the  crowd,  with  his  arms  folded 
and  his  eyes  cast  down,  like  a  man  who  has  risked  his 
fortune  on  a  single  card,  and  lost  it.  The  deafening  shouts 
and  cheers  of  the  Romanists  on  the  street  opposite  the 
church-door,  rang  upon  his  ear,  adding  greatly  to  the  bit 
terness  of  his  disappointment,  and  rendering  his  discom 
fiture  a  hundred  times  more  galling.  As  he  stood  there 
in  utter  wretchedness,  a  little  man  in  a  long  threadbare 
overcoat,  and  supporting  himself  with  a  staff,  hobbled  up 
to  him,  and  taking  off  his  hat  respectfully,,  requested 
leave  to  speak  a  word  in  private. 

"  Well,  sir,  your  business  ?  " 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  309 

"  I  was  talkin'  this  evenin',  yer  honor,  to  N"eal-a-Crawp- 
shy,  an'  he  tould  me  to  tell  ye  he  cudn't  keep  his  promise." 

"And  why  not,  sir?" 

"Bekase,  plaze  yer  honor's  holiness,  there's  a  tarrible 
reduction  in  the  prices  av  absilution  since  Neal  was  at  con 
fession  last,  an'  he  didn't  know  it  when  he  made  the  bar 
gain  with  yer  honor;  for,  siz  he,  this  Pope  we  have  now 
cut  down  murdhers  as  low  as  a  poun'  apiece,  an'  ither  sins 
accordinly ;  so  he  says  he  cudn't  well  take  it  on  his  con 
science  to  go  higher,  but  if  yer  honor's  satisfied  with  that, 
why  he'll  make  a  raisonable  reduction  in  his  pay,  an'  come 
to  church  any  time  yer  honor  sends  the  coach  for  him." 

"  The  infamous  scoundrel !  he  shall  answer  for  this. 
And  who  are  you,  sir?" 

"'Am  a  neighbor  of  his,  plaze  yer  honor." 

"  Your  name,  I  mean  —  what's  your  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  in  troth,  yer  honor,  that  same's  no  great  things. 
Sometimes  they  call  me  one  name  an'  sometimes  anither." 

"But  what  is  your  real  name,  sir?"  demanded  the 
colonel.  "  I  half  suspect  who  you  are.  Answer  me,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  was  christened,  they  tell  me,  by  the  name  of 
Shandy  M'Guire,  yer  honor,  if  ye  iver  heerd  tell  av  it." 

"  Police  !  police  !  —  hilloa  there,  sergeant,  arrest  this 
man ! "  vociferated  the  colonel  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"  Arra,  colonel,  dear,  don't  be  so  cruel  to  an  ould  lame 
man  that's  racked  with  the  rheumatiz ;  don't  ye  remem 
ber  the  day  you  give  me  a  ride  in  yer  gig,  how  consither- 
ate  you  were  ?  " 

"  Police  !  police  ! "  shouted  the  colonel  again,  gesticulat 
ing  most  furiously. 

The  police  searched,  but  Shandy  escaped  among  the 
crowd. 

Then  the  assembly  prepared  to  leave  the  church,  for  the 
farce  had  ended. 


310  SHANDY   M'GUIKE,    OR 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE      AGENT      AND      THE       BAILIFF      ARE      BROUGHT     FROM 
DARKNESS    INTO    LIGHT. 

WE  now  return  to  Archibald  Cantwell,  having  taken 
our  leave  of  Colonel  Templeton  and  the  worthy  members 
of  the  "Moor"  family  at  the  door  of  the  family  carriage, 
beside  which  stood  Mr.  Goodsoul,  our  pious  and  God 
fearing  acquaintance,  holding  the  handle,  and  bowing  with 
his  usual  solemnity  to  each  individual  as  he  passed  in. 
Whether  he  addressed  himself  in  words  to  his  respectable 
patrons  on  that  interesting  occasion,  has  not  been  chroni 
cled  in  the  history  of  that  night ;  for,  owing,  it  is  said,  to 
the  shouts  and  cheers  of  the  mob,  the  voice  of  the  Bible 
Reader  could  not  be  heard.  Indeed,  tradition  on  the  sub 
ject  is  very  clear;  for  what  with  the  shouts  for  Dumpy 
Dowser,  when  he  made  his  appearance  outside  the  church, 
and  the  vociferous  cheers  for  Shandy  M'Guire,  perched 
comfortably  as  he  was  on  two  stalwart  fellows'  shoulders, 
and  hurried  along  through  the  crowd,  there  was  certainly 
clamor  enough  to  drown  the  voice  of  Ebenezer  Goodsoul, 
had  he  spoken  with  the  power  of  a  Jupiter  Tonans. 

Cantwell  was  still  at  the  bailiff's,  where  Doogan  had 
left  him.  The  reader  will  remember  he  had  that  night 
escaped  from  strangulation  at  the  hands  of  "Dick  the 
Omedaun."  Poor  Dick,  as  we  .have  already  seen  in  the 
early  part  of  this  story,  had  followed  the  remains  of  the 
unfortunate  Mary  Curran  to  the  old  abbey.  There,  at  her 
grave,  he  saw  the  old  priest  weeping  over  her  melancholy 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  311 

and  untimely  end  —  over  a  heart  pure  and  untainted  as  the 
breath  of  angels  —  now  crushed  and  broken  by  the  slander 
of  the  disappointed  and  malicious  Cantwell.  There  Dick's 
soul,  usually  so  calm  and  passionless,  was  roused  up  to 
wrath  and  vengeance  by  the  tears  of  the  priest.  Unseen 
by  the  crowd,  he  knelt  down  on  the  loose  earth  by  the 
brink  of  Mary's  grave,  and  placing  the  fingers  of  his  right 
hand  over  those  of  the  left,  he  swore  by  the  five  crosses  he 
would  take  the  life  of  Archibald  Cantwell  in  revenge  for 
the  grief  of  Father  Domnick,  whom  he  loved  with  such 
an  intensity  of  affection  as,  people  say,  the  heart  of  the 
simpleton  only  can  experience.  Never  for  one  moment 
did  Dick  forget  that  promise  ;  it  was  the  one  idea  —  the 
one  purpose  that  occupied  his  thoughts,  and  never  did  he 
reveal  his  secret  to  living  creature  but  his  own  lanna 
bought^  Ellen  O'Donnell.  Night  after  night  he  would  sit 
melancholy  and  sad  in  the  old  churchyard  near  Mary's 
grave,  to  guard  the  body  from  the  sacrilegious  touch  of 
the  resurrection-men  ;  and  then  as  the  wild  thirst  for  re 
venge  waked  up  within  him,  he  would  start  from  the 
broken  tombstone  where  he  kept  his  lonely  watch,  and 
run  up  to  the  "  Moor  "  to  prowl  about  the  house  in  quest 
of  his  victim.  On  the  night  of  the  murderous  attempt  at 
Doogan's  assassination,  Dick  had  concealed  himself  in  the 
shrubbery,  close  by  the  back  entrance  to  the  Rector's 
demesne,  ready  like  the  tiger  to  pounce  upon  his  prey. 
Hardly  had  Cantwell  closed  the  wicket  behind  him,  and 
turned  in  the  direction  of  Coulson's  house,  when  he  felt 
himself  dragged  by  a  powerful  arm  into  the  ditch,  and  his 
throat  grappled  as  if  by  the  jaws  of  a  vice.  The  simple 
ton's  hold  relaxed  not  in  the  struggle ;  in  vain  did  Cant- 
well  seize  his  arms,  and  attempt  to  force  them  up  in  order 
to  lighten  the  deadly  pressure.  Dick's  terrible  passion  for 
vengeance  gave  him  herculean  strength  —  his  grasp  tight 
ening  more  and  more  every  moment,  until  at  length  his 
victim's  efforts  became  less  violent,  his  face  livid,  and  his 


312  SHANDY  M'GTJIKE. 

eyes  bloodshot,  so  that  one  minute  more  would  have  ended 
his  wretched  life,  when  Father  Domnick,  attracted  by  the 
moving  of  the  shrubbery  and  the  high  breathing,  came  op 
portunely  to  his  rescue. 

But  Cantwell  had  escaped  from  the  long-pent-up  wrath 
of  the  natural  only  to  be  the  more  terrified  by  the  threats 
of  Doogan.  The  respectable  position  he  occupied  in  the 
county  as  the  Agent  of  the  wealthy  and  influential  Colonel 
Templeton,  and  still  more  his  close  relationship  to  the 
Rector  of  the  parish,  and  the  various  charitable  societies  of 
which  he  was  ever  regarded  as  a  zealous  and  active  mem 
ber,  now  rose  up  to  present  themselves  to  his  reflection, 
and  affright  him  with  the  dread  of  exposure.  To  be  so 
suddenly  stripped  of  the  veil  of  sanctimony  with  which  he 
had  so  long  and  so  dexterously  covered  his  villany,  and 
shown  to  the  world  in  all  his  native  meanness  and  duplici 
ty,  was  a  thought  that  curdled  the  very  blood  within  him. 
When  he  first  heard  the  threatening  words  break  from 
Doogan's  lips,  in  such  bold  and  determined  tones,  he 
shrunk  back  and  cowered  like  a  very  woman  with  aston 
ishment  and  fear.  But  he  soon  rallied  his  energies  for  the 
emergency.  A  moment's  reflection  told  him  there  was  no 
time  to  lose,  if  he  wished  to  prevent  public  disgrace.  His 
deep  and  deadly  passions  were  roused,  as  his  imagination 
pictured  in  frightful  characters  the  sneers  and  scoffs  of  his 
enemies  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  scorn  and  contempt  of 
his  friends  on  the  other —  friends  whom  his  hypocrisy  had 
so  long  deceived  ;  and  borrowing  fury  from  despair,  he 
snatched  the  pistol  from  the  wall  and  snapped  it  in  the 
butcher's  face.  His  intent  was  murder ;  to  bury  his  dark 
secrets  in  the  grave  of  the  man  whom  he  had  made  their 
sole  depositary.  But  he  failed  —  an  almighty  and  ever- 
watchful  Providence  interposed,  and  Doogan  was  saved.- 

From  one  so  cunning  and  circumspect  as  Archy  Cant- 
well,  we  might  have  expected  more  prudence  and  discre 
tion  in  his  difficulty  with  the  butcher ;  that  seeing  himself 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  313 

so  much  in  Doogan's  power,  he  might  have  bethought  him 
of  some  means  to  bring  about  an  amicable  adjustment ; 
but  the  fact  was,  Cantwell  saw  at  a  glance  the  folly,  if  not 
the  danger,  of  continuing  an  intimacy  with  a  man  who  had 
not  only  lodged  information  against  his  reverend  father  for 
having  smuggled  goods  in  his  possession,  but  also  exposed 
himself  before  his  bailiff  and  companions.  What  guaran 
tee  could  such  a  fellow  give  for  his  future  secrecy  and 
trustworthiness  ?  If  for  the  miserable  pittance  of  ten 
shillings  —  the  informer's  fee  —  he  perjured  himself  as  an 
Orangeman  by  attempting  to  bring  down  public  ignominy 
on  the  head  of  his  sworn  brother  and  chaplain  of  his  lodge, 
what  would  he  not  do  if  the  Ribbon  party,  or  its  supposed 
abettors,  offered  him  a  bribe  commensurate  with  his  ava 
rice,  to  reveal  the  secrets  confided  to  his  keeping  ?  There 
was  but  one  choice:  to  murder  his  confidant  —  a  thing 
easily  done  where  his  own  creatures  were  to  be  the  only 
witnesses  of  the  deed  —  or  consent  to  lose  both  his  office 
and  his  reputation.  He  chose  the  former. 

It  was  now  past  midnight.  The  Agent  and  the  bailiff 
sat  before  the  half-spent  peat  fire  in  Coulson's  little  parlor. 
The  other  members  of  the  family  had  retired  to  rest. 
Cantwell's  left  arm  rested  on  the  table  beside  him,  the 
open  hand  shading  his  dark  sepulchral  countenance  from 
the  view  of  his  companion.  There  was  no  light  in  the 
room  but  what  the  sickly  simmer  of  smouldering  coals 
gave  out  through  the  bars  of  the  grate. 

After  a  long  interval  of  silence,  during  which  he  played 
with  the  seals  of  his  watch,  Cantwell  at  length  gave  ex 
pression  to  his  thoughts. 

"And  you  forgot  to  search  his  pockets  for  the  papers? 
Confound  it !  you  have  balked  the  business  nicely,  eh  — 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"We  forgot  nothing,  sir;  but  we  had  no  time  to  search. 
Had  we  remained  where  he  fell  but  one  minute  longer,  we 
should  all  three  be  now  under  irons  in  the  barrack  guard- 


314  SHANDY  M'GUntE,   OK 

"  If  these  papers  be  found  —  of  which  there  can  be  very 
little  doubt  —  matters  will  be  still  worse,"  observed  the 
Agent,  in  a  tone  expressive  of  serious  apprehension. 

The  bailiff  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  kept  drawing 
figures  in  the  ashes  with  the  fire-shovel. 

u  Was  he  dead  when  you  left  him,  do  you  think  ?"  again 
asked  Cantwell. 

"  No  —  not  dead  :  there  was  hardly  time  ;  but  he  was 
beyond  the  possibility  of  recovery." 

«  How  so  ?  " 

"  I  passed  the  sword  twice  through  his  body." 

"  And  broke  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  left  the  point  after  you,  to  tell  tales  perhaps  ? " 
observed  the  Agent,  sneeringly. 

"  Humph  !  "  ejaculated  the  bailiff,  with  his  usual  indiffer 
ence  to  his  master's  displeasure ;  "  you  are  very  hard  to 
please  in  the  management  of  these  delicate  matters.  What 
do  you  think,  now  —  had  you  not  better  employ  another 
executioner  for  your  next  victim  ?  " 

"  Ha !  you  banter  me,  sir." 

"  And  why  not,  if  I  choose  ?  With  a  gentleman  like 
you,  whose  neck  almost  feels  the  halter,  even  your  bailiff 
may  be  bold." 

"  And  you  threaten  me  ?  " 

"As. you  please." 

"  What  if  I  should  give  Jemmy  Connor's  farm  to  an 
other  ?  " 

"  You  would  regret  it  very  much." 

"  Well,  well  —  that's  as  it  may  be.  It  would  pay  yon 
sufficiently  for  this  night's  work,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes  ;  it  would  comfort  me  a  little  under  my  re 
morse  of  conscience." 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  laughed  the  Agent,  mockingly  ;  "  ha,  ha ! 
excellent !  And  where  did  you  find  a  conscience?" 

"  I  picked  up  yours,"  replied  Coulson,  in  the  same  tone, 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  315 

"  when  you  cast  it  away,  long  ago,  on  your  appointment  to 
the  colonel's  agency ;  even  then  it  was  almost  as  worn  out 
as  an  old  shabby  threadbare  coat,  but  now  you  can  hardly 
recognize  it,  so  much  has  it  been  renovated  under  my  care. 
Ha,  ha !  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Enough,  enough,  sir,  of  this  bantering,"  said  the  Agent, 
angrily ;  "  and  let  me  request  you  to  conceal  or  destroy 
that  cane-sword  before  you  sleep,  as  it  is  the  only  possible 
evidence  to  criminate  us." 

"  Don't  fear,  sir ;  the  weapon  shall  be  seen  to,  depend 
upon  it." 

"  And  now  let  me  ask  you,"  continued  Cantwell,  turning 
towards  his  companion,  "  have  you  yet  seen  that  woman 
you  recommended  ?  " 

« I  have,  sir." 

"Well?" 

"  She  has  undertaken,  in  consideration  of  a  guinea  in 
hand  and  the  promise  of  another  when  she  earns  it,  to 
bring  Mary  Connor  to-morrow  night,  at  seven  o'clock, 
through  the  Abbey  graveyard,  where  you  may  meet  her." 

"  The  Abbey !  how  is  that  —  she  lives  four  miles  from 
it?" 

"  True ;  but  she  comes  to  a  christening  at  the  « Stripe,' 
and  her  direct  way  home  from  there  is  through  the  church 
yard." 

"Very  good,  so  far;  but  on  what  pretence  is  she  to  be 
led  there,  for  the  place  is  desolate,  and  few  care  for  pass 
ing  through  it  in  the  night  ?  Besides,  she  may  be  accom 
panied  by  this  young  Devlin." 

"  It  is  on  that  very  pretence  she  will  be  induced  to  come. 
Devlin  is  to  wait  for  her  under  shadow  of  the  old  wall, 
where  they  buried  Mary  Curran  a  few  days  ago." 

"  And  who  is  this  woman  you  have  employed  ?  " 

"An  old  Scotch  spae  wife  they  call  Nelly  Killcreesh. 
Many  a  message  she  carried  between  Frank  Devlin  and 
Mary  Connor  in  her  time." 


316  SHANDY    M'GUTBB,    OR 

"  She's  to  be  trusted  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  as  true  as  steel,  if  you  pay  her  well ;  she's  a  regu 
lar  trump  when  you  jingle  the  gold  at  her." 

"  Ha,  well,  don't  spare  the  gold.  I'd  willingly  barter 
half  my  income  for  the  satisfaction  of  taming  that  saucy 
dame.  Ha,  ha !  Miss  Malapert,  take  care  ;  the  Saxon  dog 
may  bite  you  yet.  Proud  as  you  are  of  your  Irish  virtue, 
you  may  yet  see  yourself  dishonored,  and  your  father  a 
beggar." 

"  But  what's  to  be  done  about  this  affair  of  the  marriage, 
sir?"  asked  Coulson,  changing  the  subject. 

"  Nothing,  I  believe ;  there's  no  proof  against  the  priest 
of  an  attempted  marriage." 

"  And  O'Brien's  assault  on  the  police  officer  —  what  of 
that?" 

"Quashed  —  the  officer  is  thoroughly  ashamed  of  his 
poltroonery,  and  won't  consent  to  bring  the  case  before 
the  court.  Confound  the  —  " 

"  Hish  !  "  interrupted  Coulson  ;  "  what  noise  is  that  ?  " 

"Where?" 

"  Outside  the  window.  Hist !  I  certainly  heard  some 
thing  like  footfalls  and  stealthy  voices  near  the  window. 
Listen ! " 

Cantwell  raised  himself  to  an  erect  sitting  posture, 
turned  his  ear  to  catch  the  sounds,  if  any  there -were,  and 
listened  with  fear  and  terror  impressed  upon  his  dark 
sepulchral  countenance. 

"  Hide  the  cane-sword,"  he  whispered,  gulping  his  words 
as  he  uttered  them.  "Hide  it  instantly,  or  we  are  lost!" 

As  Coulson  rose  to  execute  the  order,  the  front  door  fell 
in  with  a  thundering  crash,  and  the  next  instant  Captain 
O'Brien  stood  before  the  guilty  pair. 

As  the  tall  princely  form  of  the  young  Irishman  made 
its  appearance  in  the  door  of  the  apartment,  Cantwell  re 
treated  to  the  wall,  and  remained  there  speechless  as  a 
statue. 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  317 

"  You  keep  late  hours,  sir,"  began  O'Brien,  addressing 
the  agent  very  calmly. 

Cant  well  did  not  reply  immediately  to  the  question. 
He  was  surprised  out  of  his  self-possession  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  intrusion,  and  took  a  moment's  pause  to  re 
cover  it. 

"  I  have  just  said,  Mr.  Cantwell,"  repeated  O'Brien,  "  that 
you  keep  late  hours." 

"  Business  like  mine  may  sometimes  require  them,"  mut 
tered  Cantweli  at  length,  his  voice  trembling  as  he  spoke. 

"No  doubt,  sir  —  sorry  to  interrupt  you  at  so  unseason 
able  a  time.  But  may  I  beg  to  know  how  you  came  by 
that  ring  on  your  finger  ?  " 

Cantwell  stood  confounded  at  the  question.  He  had 
not  till  that  instant  perceived  that  he  still  retained  the  ring 
which  Doogan  had  given  him.  Had  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  before,  he  would  certainly  have  either  secreted  it 
about  his  person  or  flung  it  back  in  the  butcher's  face. 
But  as  it  was,  he  could  not  possibly  free  himself  from  the 
suspicion,  at  least,  of  having  formed  a  close  intimacy  with 
Doogan.  It  was,  therefore,  after  some  hesitation  he  said  — 

"  And  what  right  have  you,  sir,  to  ask  the  question  ?  " 

"  The  right  of  a  magistrate.  That  ring  was  given  you 
some  three  months  ago,  and  is  the  property  of  a  young 
lady  of  your  acquaintance  robbed  in  Barnes'  Gap  about 
the  beginning  of  July  last." 

"And  why  come  you  here  at  this  hour,  sir,  to  search  for 
it  ?  Would  it  not  serve  the  purpose  sufficiently,  to  have 
the  young  lady  you  speak  of  identify  it  at  a  more  fitting 
time  and  place  ?  " 

"  You  mistake,  sir ;  I  did  not  come  here  solely  to  re 
cover  a  stolen  ring.  I  came  also  to  arrest  you  and  your 
worthy  bailiff,  Wm.  Coujson,  for  an  attempt  on  the  life  of 
Daniel  Doogan.  Men,  handcuff  that  fellow,"  he  contin 
ued,  pointing  to  Coulson.  "  Sergeant*  search  the  house 
for  Ribbon  papers,  and  see,  can  you  find  a  pistol  lately 


318  SHANDY    M'GUIKE,    OR 

discharged.  Mr.  Cantwell,  have  the  goodness  to  hand  me 
that  ring." 

"  When  you  have  satisfied  me  of  your  right  to  demand 
it,  —  not  sooner." 

"  Thomson  —  Bradley,  seize  him  ! "  said  O'Brien,  in  a 
tone  of  the  coldest  possible  contempt,  "  and  take  that  ring 
from  his  finger ;  for  me,  I  dare  not  touch  him  —  he  would 
pollute  me." 

The  order  was  promptly  obeyed. 

"  Mr.  Coulson,  where  is  the  cane-sword  you  carried  last 
night.  I  have  a  curiosity  to  know  if  this  broken  point  can 
claim  any  relationship  to  it.  Produce  it." 

"I  have  no  cane-sword,"  muttered  the  bailiff. 

"  Captain,"  cried  a  voice  from  outside  the  window,  "  you 
will  find  the  cane-sword  behind  the  lookin'-glass  on  the 
mantel ;  I  saw  him  through  the  shutters  hidin'  it." 

The  broken  instrument  was  examined,  and  the  point 
found  to  fit  exactly. 

"  Now,"  said  O'Brien,  addressing  his  subaltern,  "  get  the 
men  in  order  for  march ;  and  you,  sir,"  turning  to  Cant- 
well,  "  will  find  a  horse  in  your  bailiff's  stable,  and  accom 
pany  me  to  quarters." 

After  a  few  minutes  spent  in  hasty  preparation,  the 
party  set  out  on  the  road  to  the  village,  and  arrived  in  due 
time  at  the  military  barracks. 

Next  morning,  it  being  ascertained  that  Doogan  was 
out  of  danger,  bail  was  taken  of  the  prisoners  to  stand 
their  trial  at  the  coming  assizes. 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  319 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN   WHICH    AFFAIRS    BECOME    CRITICAL. 

FOE  some  time  after  Shandy  M'Guire  had  been  carried 
in  triumph  through  the  village,  groups  of  idlers  might  be 
seen  here  and  there  about  the  corners  of  the  streets,  talk 
ing  and  laughing  together  over  the  ludicrous  scenes 
enacted  in  the  Methodist  meeting-house.  The  Orangemen 
also  paraded  the  streets  in  straggling  parties  of  five  and 
six,  some  carrying  orange-colored  handkerchiefs  tied  round 
their  arms,  others  wearing  blue  and  orange  ribbons  on 
their  hats,  while  a  few,  more  courageous  than  the  rest,  fired 
pistol-shots  as  they  passed  along,  in  order,  no  doubt,  to 
provoke  a  quarrel  with  the  opposite  parties,  and  thus  sum 
marily  avenge  the  insult  offered  that  night,  not  only  to 
their  religion,  but  to  their  loyal  brother  Dumpy  Dowser. 
These  provocations  —  quite  sufficient  at  other  times  to 
cause  riot  and  bloodshed  —  were  on  this  occasion  of  Shan 
dy's  triumph  and  the  colonel's  discomfiture,  entirely  inef 
fectual  ;  causing  no  other  sign  of  retaliation  than  a  loud 
laugh  or  a  contemptuous  cheer.  As  the  night  grew  older, 
the  different  parties  thinned  off  one  by  one,  the  Catholics 
highly  pleased  with  the  scenes  they  had  witnessed,  and 
the  Orangemen  muttering  dark  threats  against  their  ene 
mies. 

It  was  now  midnight  —  every  one  had  retired  to  rest ; 
the  lights  which  but  an  hour  before  had  illuminated  the 
village  were  all  extinguished,  if  indeed  we  might  except 
the  sickly  gleam  of  the  rushlight  that  struggled  through 


320  SHANDY  M'GUmE,    OK 

the  broken  windows  down  at  long  intervals  away  among 
the  lanes  and  alleys  of  the  town  —  a  mother,  perhaps, 
watching  to  catch  the  last  throb  of  her  departing  child,  or 
maybe  a  poor  tradesman  striving  against  the  morrow's  sun 
to  earn  a  breakfast  for  a  helpless  family.  We  have  said  it 
was  midnight ;  the  inmates  at  General  Johnston's  were 
sound  asleep,  when  Ellen  O'Donnell  was  disturbed  by  a 
noise  in  the  garden. 

"Madalene!  Madalene !  "  she  said  to  her  waiting-maid, 
who  slept  in  the  same  apartment ;  "  wake  up  and  listen  — 
what  noise  is  that?  I  surely  heard  something,  like  the 
noise  of  men  leaping  the  wall.  Listen!  there's  a  confused 
liuin  of  voices  under  the  window." 

Madalene  got  up,  and  drawing  aside  a  corner  of  the 
window-curtain,  perceived  two  men  standing  under  the 
wall  of  the  garden,  apparently  receiving  instructions  from 
a  third  party  who  remained  outside,  leaning  over  from  the 
street.  He  was  closely  muffled  in  a  cloak,  the  collar  of 
which  would,  even  in  daylight,  have  completely  concealed 
his  face,  and  spoke  so  low  and  stealthy  that  she  could  not 
catch  the  words,  though  the  place  where  he  stood  was  but 
a  few  paces  from  the  window.  When  Madalene  told  her 
mistress  what  she  saw,  Ellen  started  up,  and  wrapping 
herself  in  a  night-cloak,  approached  the  window.  The 
two  men  in  the  garden,  by  this  time,  had  moved  over  from 
the  wall  under  Ellen's  bed-chamber,  and  as  they  stood  there 
for  the  space  of  a  minute  to  ascertain,  by  listening  at  the 
window,  whether  any  one  was  stirring  within  the  house, 
Ellen  observed  the  person  outside  the  wall  going  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  Orange  lodge,  in  the  rear  of  which  a 
light  was  still  burning.  The  thought  flashed  across  her 
mind  for  a  second  that  this  individual,  in  his  bearing  and 
gait,  was  very  like  Cantwell  the  Agent;  but  it  was  only  for 
a  second ;  for  immediately  her  attention  was  again  directed 
to  the  men  in  the  garden.  As  they  came  within  view,  on 
leaving  the  window  at  which  they  had  been  listening,  El- 


TRICKS  UPON  TRAVELLERS.  321 

len  perceived,  by  the  clear  starlight,  that  one  of  them  wore 
a  breastplate  under  his  overcoat.  Madalene  saw  it  also, 
and,  had  not  her  mistress  prevented  her,  would  have  run 
down  and  alarmed  the  servants ;  but  Ellen  cautioned  her 
to  be  silent,  and  observe  closely  what  might  happen.  The 
two  men  walked  down  noiselessly  by  the  avenue  that  led 
to  the  stable-yard,  and  entered  an  open  doorway.  After 
remaining  there  for  four  or  five  minutes,  they  again  ap 
peared  carrying  a  ladder  on  their  shoulders,  which  they 
proceeded  to  raise  against  the  gable  of  the  bridewell.  Now 
the  gable  wall  of  this  jail,  where  persons  sentenced  to  im 
prisonment  at  the  quarter-sessions,  or  by  the  magistrates, 
were  kept  for  a  short  period,  served  in  its  place  as  a  part 
of  the  wall  enclosing  the  general's  garden,  as  the  gable  of 
the  old  Catholic  chapel  answered  the  same  purpose  on  the 
opposite  side,  so  that  the  grated  windows  of  the  prison 
could  be  easily  reached  by  a  ladder  from  the  garden. 
"When  Ellen  saw  the  men  raising  the  ladder,  she  knew  in 
a  moment  they  were  bent  on  rescuing  some  poor  convict 
from  bridewell,  and  good-naturedly  resolved  not  to  balk 
them  in  their  dangerous  enterprise. 

"It  don't  concern  us,  Madalene,"  she  said;  "they  are 
certainly  no  robbers.  So  let  us  to  bed,  and  wish  them  suc 
cess  in  their  undertaking." 

"  But  who  are  they,  think  you,  signora  ?  "  inquired  Mada 
lene,  closing 'the  curtain  and  retiring  from  the  window. 
"  There's  a  light  in  the  lodge  just  beside  them;  surely  some 
one  there  must  be  in  the  secret,  or  these  men  would  not 
run  the  risk." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Ellen ;  "there  is  no  one  there  for  whom 
Orangemen  would  run  risk  —  that  prison,  Madalene,  was 
built  for  Catholics  only." 

"  But  the  sick  man  who  was  carried  there  against  the 
captain's  will,  he  is  not  a  Catholic?" 

"  Doogan,  you  mean  ?  No,  he's  not  a  Catholic,  I  believe, 
but  neither  is  he  a  prisoner,  Madaleue ;  he  is  detained  there 
21 


322  SHANDY  MCGUIRE,   OR 

in  safe-keeping  only,  as  a  crown  witness  against  Coulson 
and  his  accomplices.  There's  no  likelihood  of  Orangemen 
rescuing  him  from  the  jail." 

"  Very  dangerous  place,"  observed  Madalene,  composing 
herself  for  sleep ;  "  very  dangerous  place  for  the  poor  fel 
low,  under  the  lock  and  key  of  his  enemies.  But  Buona, 
notte,  signora  mia,  riposi  bene" 

Ellen  and  Madalene  had  slept  hardly  an  hour,  when  they 
were  again  suddenly  awoke  by  the  cry  of "  Fire !  fire ! " 
shouted  from  the  garden  and  along  the  street.  As  Ellen 
started  up,  the  glare  of  light  through  her  chamber  windows 
told  at  once  that  the  fire  was  raging  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood.  Hastily  putting  on  her  garments,  she  looked 
out,  and  saw  Father  Domnick's  house  in  flames.  "  Merci 
ful  God  !  "  she  cried ;  "  save  that  old  man ! "  And  snatching 
a  shawl  to  cover  her  shoulders,  she  rushed  down  the  stairs, 
and  flew  through  the  garden.  In  a  moment  she  was  at 
the  priest's  side,  for  he  had  escaped ;  and  raising  his  hand 
to  her  lips,  reverently  kissed  it.  "  Thank  God  ! "  she  cried, 
shedding  tears  of  joy  as  she  spoke;  "thank  God,  dear 
Father,  you  are  still  safe." 

The  roof  of  the  priest's  cottage  being  straw-thatch,  sup 
ported  by  rafters  of  bog-fir  seasoned  for  half  a  century, 
blazed  like  flax,  and  was  consumed  in  a  few  minutes. 
From  the  instant  the  fire  was  discovered,  no  one  thought 
of  saving  the  house  —  it  was  impossible  ;  bat  all  directed 
their  exertions  to  save  the  adjoining  chapel.  Father  Dom- 
nick  himself,  without  hat  or  shoe,  and  wrapped  in  his  loose, 
unbelted  cassock,  stood  opposite  the  window  of  his  little 
study,  holding  Ellen  by  the  one  hand  and  his  breviary  in 
the  other,  gazing  in  melancholy  abstraction  on  the  flames 
as  they  devoured  his  library,  every  book  of  which  was  as 
dear  to  him,  from  old  association,  as  the  apple  of  his  eye. 
Beside  him  was  his  faithful  old  clerk,  Darby  Gallaugher, 
guarding  his  Leo  X.  and  Infant  Jesus,  which  the  reader 
will  remember  to  have  seen  before. 


TRICKS   UPON  TRAVELLERS.  323 

Notwithstanding  the  exertions  made  by  the  crowd, 
amongst  whom  many  of  the  Protestant  neighbors  were 
remarkable  for  their  hazardous  attempts  to  intercept  the 
course  of  the  fire,  the  chapel  at  length  caught  the  flarne  as 
it  rose  up  swaying  to  and  fro,  and  licking  the  roof  above 
in  its  terrible  fury.  All  endeavors  to  extinguish  it  were 
now  utterly  useless.  Still  the  poor  fellows  who  worshipped 
there  so  long  and  so  faithfully,  under  so  many  insults  and 
outrages,  and  to  whom  that  venerable  pile  was  the  dearest 
and  holiest  spot  on  earth,  round  which  their  affections 
clung  and  grew  with  a  devotion  that  increased  day  by  day, 
in  proportion  to  their  sufferings  —  they  could  not  desist 
from  their  labor  of  love  whilst  a  shadow  of  hope  remained. 
In  vain  did  hundreds  of  stout  arms  carry  water  from  the 
adjacent  river,  to  heave  it  on  the  burning  thatch  (for  the 
chapel  roof  was  similar  to  that  of  the  cottage)  ;  nothing 
could  stop  the  fury  of  the  devouring  flames  —  the  hot 
roof  throwing  off  the  water  in  steam  as  fast  as  it  fell  upon 
it.  At  length  the  ladders  were  removed,  the  crowd  drew 
back  farther  from  the  building,  and  then  the  clear,  steady 
flame  rose  up,  illuminating  the  houses  and  gardens  round 
about. 

"  Ellen,"  said  Father  Domnick,  speaking  to  the  fair  girl 
who  still  remained  at  his  side,  her  hand  clasped  in  his, 
"  Ellen,  my  child,  never  till  this  moment  did  I  dream  that 
act  of  mine  could  have  brought  this  punishment  on  my 
gray  head.  If  I  have  made  me  enemies,  it  was  unwittingly, 
Ellen  —  God  knows  it  was." 

"And  lie  may  have  permitted  this  sacrilege  for  his  own 
wise  ends.  Fear  not,  Father,  another  church  will  soon  be 
erected  on  its  ruins,  and  one,  trust  me,  far  more  becoming 
the  august  mysteries  of  our  holy  religion." 

"I  shall  never  see  it,  Ellen.  To-morrow  night  I  leave 
the  old  place,  to  beg  my  way  to  Spain  once  more  —  to  beg, 
for  they  left  me  nothing  but  my  breviary  and  my  cassock. 
I  loved  this  old  chapel  and  the  old  castle  beside  it  there 


324  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OK 

better  than  I  could  tell — far  better  than  to  this  moment 
I  had  ever  thought ;  but  —  "  The  priest  hesitated,  and  as 
Ellen  looked  up,  she  saw  he  was  suffering  intense  agony. 

Affecting  not  to  notice  his  grief,  she  yet  tried  to  console 
him  with  hopes  of  better  times,  and  the  love  and  affection 
of  his  persecuted  flock,  who  would  be  still  a  thousand  times 
more  wretched  if  he  forsook  them. 

"  I  know  it,  Ellen,  and  it's  hard  to  part  with  them,"  he 
replied,  repressing  his  emotion,  and  endeavoring  to  speak 
with  more  composure ;  "  but  I  have  made  my  resolution, 
suddenly  I  confess,  but  not  in  passion ;  and  I  beg  God  Al 
mighty  to  pardon  me  if  I  did  wrong,  and  to  send  them 
some  one  in  my  stead  who  will  watch  over  them  as  faithfully 
as  I  have  done.  Indeed,  Ellen,  my  dear  child,  I  do  not  in  a 
certain  sense  regret  that  this  outrage  has  taken  place ;  for 
I  longed  very  much  of  late  to  visit  Spain  before  life  had 
become  a  burden  too  heavy  to  carry  there  ;  and  yet  I  loved 
the  little  thatched  cottage,  and  the  venerable  old  chapel, 
and  the  old  castle  of  my  —  of  the  O'Donnells  here  beside  it 
so  much,  that  I  fear  I  could  never  summon  courage  enough 
to  tear  myself  from  them.  But  now,  Ellen,  now  that  they 
have  burned  me  out  of  house  and  home,  I  have  little  to 
part  with  but  —  " 

"  Old  memories,"  interrupted  Ellen,  "  which,  go  where 
you  will,  you  can  never  banish.  No,  no,  Father  dear  — 
stay  with  us  ;  stay  with  me  to  guide  me  safely  through  the 
dangers  that  may  beset  my  path,  in  the  new  sphere  of  life 
on  which  I  am  so  soon  to  enter;  stay  with  Roderick  to 
teach  him  the  faith  and  practice  of  our  holy  religion,  —  to 
show  him  how  grand,  how  royal  it  is  in  its  mysteries  and 
its  worship !  how  like  it  is  to  the  religion  which  a  mind 
noble  and  generous  like  Roderick's,  would  have  selected  for 
the  worship  of  Infinite  Majesty !  Stay,  stay  with  him,  to 
counsel  and  direct  him  in  his  hour  of  need ;  for  the  time 
is  coming  fast  when  men  like  him,  of  bold  hearts  and  dar 
ing  hands,  shall  be  called  on  to  assume  a  dangerous  rank 


TRICKS    UPON   TRAVELLERS.  325 

in  our  country's  struggle  for  liberty.  The  sun  of  freedom 
may  yet  cheer  your  declining  years,  Father;  for  dark  and 
lowering  as  the  clouds  of  fate  may  now  hang  over  this  un 
happy  land,  I  can  still  see  through  the  obscurity  a  gleam 
of  brighter  and  happier  days." 

"A  gleam  that  shines  afar  off,  Ellen,  and  over  fields  of 
blood,"  replied  the  old  man  sorrowfully. 

"  Be  it  so,  Father;  the  blood  will  hallow  the  victory, 
and  consecrate  the  field." 

"  War  is  a  dreadful  alternative,  my  child." 

"True;  but  yet  it  is  an  alternative,"  replied  the  heroic 
girl. 

Father  Domnick  turned  a  quick  look  at  Ellen,  somewhat 
surprised  by  the  boldness  of  the  language. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  his  thoughts  ; 
"I  love  not  war.  No,  no ;  I  would  count  myself  unde 
serving  the  respect  due  to  my  sex  if  I  did  —  yet  I  tell  you 
candidly,  I  would  rather  see  a  revolution  to-morrow,  with 
equal  chances  of  victory  and  defeat,  than  see  day  after  day 
this  beggared  nation  whining  and  supplicating  for  mercy 
at  the  feet  of  a  foreign  despot." 

As  Ellen  uttered  these  words,  a  bugle  rang  out  the  mili 
tary  call  clear  and  high  over  the  din  and  confusion  that 
prevailed ;  and  as  her  eye  turned  in  the  direction  6f  the 
sound,  she  saw  Captain  O'Brien  in  front  of  the  crowd,  giv 
ing  orders  to  his  men  as  his  lieutenant  told  them  off  in 
parties  of  ten  and  twelve.  He  was  despatching  them  in 
pursuit  of  Doogan  the  crown  witness,  who  —  it  was  now 
ascertained  —  had  been  forcibly  abducted  from  the  prison. 

When  O'Brien  had  delivered  his  commands,  he  passed 
along  in  front  of  the  multitude  now  lining  the  side  of  the 
street  opposite  the  burning  chapel.  He  wore  a  close-fitting 
jacket  and  forage-cap,  and  carried  his  sword  in  his  left 
hand.  His  step  was  not  hurried  by  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  —  it  was  light  and  nervous ;  yet  his  firm  grasp  of 
the  sword,  and  his  fiery  eye,  as  it  scanned  the  fnces  of  the 
crowd,  spoke  of  the  passion  that  raged  within. 


326  SHANDY  M'GUIEE,    OR 

"Look,  Father!"  cried  Ellen,  pointing  to  O'Brien  as  he 
approached  them ;  "  look  at  Roderick !  is  he  not  a  noble 
fellow  ?  Oh,  that  heaven  would  give  us  a  score  such  gal 
lant  gentlemen  to  strike  for  liberty  !  As  I  love  God,"  she 
added,  catching  the  shawl  that  was  falling  from  her  shoul 
ders,  while  her  enthusiastic  blood  tingled  in  her  veins,  and 
crimsoned  her  whole  countenance  —  "  I  would  rather  be 
the  wife  of  such  a  man,  on  the  evening  after  he  had  fought 
his  country's  fight  for  *  happy  homes  and  altars  free,'  than 
the  enthroned  Queen  of  England  !" 

O'Brien,  as  he  neared  the  place  where  Ellen  stood, 
halted  on  his  step  for  an  instant,  as  if  to  assure  himself 
that  the  figure  before  him  was  that  of  his  betrothed,  in 
such  a  place  and  at  such  an  hour ;  and  then  dropping  his 
sword  on  its  belt,  he  doffed  his  cap  courteously,  and  ad 
vancing,  took  Ellen  by  the  hand. 

"Ha,  Ellen,  I  little  expected  to  find  you  here  —  and 
with  Father  Domnick  too  ?  " 

"  I  came,"  replied  Ellen,  "  to  thaw  my  frozen  papist 
blood  at  this  Protestant  fire.  Our  good  Orange  neigh 
bors,  afraid,  I  suppose,  our  Milesian  blood  would  chill, 
have  made  a  fire  to-night  to  raise  its  temperature." 

As  O'Brien  came  over  to  take  her  by  the  hand,  Ellen 
advanced  a  little  from  the  line  of  the  multitude  to  meet 
him,  unconscious  at  the  moment  that  she  was  depart 
ing  somewhat  from  the  rules  of  decorum  which  the  follies 
of  the  age  marked  out  for  her  observance  ;  and  thus  both 
were  brought  to  salute  each  other  affectionately,  in  full 
view  of  the  people.  When  the  captain  first  appeared,  the 
crowd  would  have  received  him  with  cheers,  as  they  in 
variably  did  when  he  showed  himself  on  any  public  occa 
sion  ;  for  he  was  their  favorite  ever  since  the  riot  at  the 
fair ;  but  their  hearts  were  too  much  bowed  down  with 
grief  and  sorrow  for  the  loss  they  had  sustained.  Yet 
when  Ellen  appeared  at  his  side,  under  the  walls  of  her 
ancestral  castle,  proud  and  beautiful  like  the  women  of  her 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  327 

noble  race,  her  hand  clasped  in  that  of  O'Brien,  it  seemed 
to  them  like  a  vision,  in  which  they  beheld  Catholic  and 
Protestant  join  hands  in  friendship  and  fealty,  forgetting 
all  sectarian  animosity,  and  animated  by  the  same  noble, 
generous  spirit,  swear  hand  to  hand  and  soul  to  soul  to 
fight  like  children  of  the  same  father  for  the  freedom  of 
their  native  land ;  and  as  the  bright  fancy  glowed,  fond 
hope  came  to  cheer  their  drooping  spirits;  and  then  a 
joyous  shout,  intermingled  with  many  a  "God  bless  them! 
God  bless  them !"  rose  up  and  rung  out  from  the  dense 
multitude,  echoing  through  the  walls  of  the  old  castle,  as 
if  the  spirits  of  the  dead  kings  whose  bones  lay  buried 
within,  had  sent  back  in  answer  their  consent  to  the  royal 
union. 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! "  shouted  the  crowd  ;  "  God  bless 
the  bonny  pair  —  God  bless  the  O'Brien  and  the  Bal- 
dearag  !  " 

"  It's  the  young  blood  of  the  old  stocks  again  uniting  to 
free  an  enslaved  nation ! "  cried  a  well-known  voice  in  the 
crowd. 

"  It's  my  dream,"  said  Father  Domnick,  laying  his  hand 
on  Darby's  shoulder.  "  I  see  it  now  —  it's  my  day-dream 
of  fifty  years." 

Here  the  noise  of  horses'  feet  was  heard  rattling  on  the 
pavement,  accompanied  with  groans  and  hisses,  and  pres 
ently  Colonel  Templeton,  followed  by  his  Agent  and  a 
posse  comitatus  of  police,  rode  up  to  where  O'Brien  was 
standing. 

"  How  came  you,  Captain  O'Brien,  to  break  open  the 
prison  in  search  of  Doogan  the  crown  witness,  without  my 
orders  ?  "  demanded  the  colonel. 

"  Because  your  orders  were  not  at  all  necessary  ;  nor,  if 
they  were,  would  I  wait  for  them." 

"Know  you,  sir,  that  I  am  both  landlord  and  chief 
magistrate  of  the  town  ?  " 

"  I  know  you,  sir,  to  be  a  sworn  brother  of  the  men  who 


828  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OK 

rescued  the  witness.  I  know  you  to  be  a  bigot  in  religion, 
a  Tory  in  politics,  and,  in  the  treatment  of  your  Catholic 
tenantry,  an  unprincipled  tyrant.  I  know  that  libertine  at 
your  side  to  be  your  Agent — an  assassin  of  women,  and 
a  conspirator  against  the  lives  and  liberties  of  an  innocent 
people.  I  know  that  he  planned  the  abduction  of  the  wit 
ness,  to  save  himself  from  public  infamy.  I  know  so  much 
of  ye  both,  master  and  man  —  more  I  care  not  to  know." 

"  My  Agent  cause  the  abduction  of  the  witness !  What, 
sir  —  dare  you  —  " 

"  I  dare,  sir,  to  charge  him  with  the  deed,"  interposed 
the  priest ;  "  and  this  young  lady  will  appear  as  an  eye 
witness  of  the  fact  when  the  proper  authorities  require  her 
testimony." 

"Lying,  audacious  mass-priest!"  vociferated  the  Agent, 
affecting  indignation  at  a  charge,  of  which  he  nevertheless 
felt  he  was  guilty,  and  spurring  on  his  horse  to  where  the 
old  man  stood.  "  Infamous  plotter  of  treason  and  —  " 

Hardly  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  O'Brien,  spring 
ing  from  Ellen's  side,  and  snatching  the  whip  from  Colonel 
Templeton,  dealt  Cantwell  a  smart  blow  across  the  cheek, 
and  unhorsed  him. 

"  Saxon  dog  ! "  he  cried,  placing  his  foot  upon  his  neck ; 
"  utter  such  words  again,  and  you  die  the  only  death  you 
deserve  —  strangled  under  the  heel  of  an  Irishman.  Down, 
sir!  degraded  wretch,  down!  an  O'Brien  treads  on  you!" 

"  Police  !  police  ! "  shouted  Colonel  Templeton  ;  "  arrest 
him,  arrest  him,  and  away  with  him  to  the  barracks ! " 

The  men  advanced  with  fixed  bayonets  to  obey  orders, 
and  O'Brien  seeing  the  movement,  drew  his  sword,  still 
keeping  his  heel  on  the  neck  of  the  prostrate  Cantwell. 

"  Down,  villain  ! "  he  cried  ;  "  down  before  the  eyes  of 
the  old  priest  whom  you  would  have  burned  amid  these 
flames  !  Down  !  you  shall  not  gloat  your  eyes  on  the  fire 
you  made.  Down !  down !  and  thus  let  every  Saxon 
tyrant  bite  the  dust,  and  thus  let  every  native  Irishman 
crush  him  ! " 


TKICKS   UPON    TRAVELLERS.  329 

While  uttering  these  exclamations,  O'Brien  stood  before 
the  police  like  a  lion  guarding  his  prey,  his  manly  form 
conspicuous  amidst  the  throng,  his  long  dark  hair  flowing 
back  on  his  shoulders,  and  his  left  hand  resting  on  his 
side,  whilst  his  right  held  the  naked  sword  carelessly  cov 
ering  the  body  of  the  fallen  Agent. 

"  Cowards  !  "  shouted  the  enraged  colonel,  gesticulating 
violently  at  the  police  ;  "  are  you  afraid  to  arrest  a  single 
man  ?  Advance  ! " 

"  Not  an  inch,"  cried  Shandy  M'Guire,  forcing  -his  way 
between  the  captain  and  police,  at  the  head  of  some  fifty 
stout  fellows ;  "  not  an  inch,  colonel,  but  over  our  dead 
bodies ! " 

"  Hear  me,  countrymen  !  "  said  O'Brien  ;  "  I  have  a  few 
words,  and  only  a  few  words  to  say  to  you  before  we  part. 
In  view  of  that  fire  caused  by  the  wretch  who  now  lies 
writhing  under  my  foot,  —  in  sight  of  that  burning  roof 
under  which  you  have  worshipped  God  for  so  many  years, 
in  fear  and  terror,  in  pain  and  suffering,  —  in  the  presence 
of  that  venerable  priest,  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  who 
tended  you  in  your  sickness  and  your  sorrows,  who  in  life 
or  in  death  has  not  forsaken  you  and  yours,  who  prayed 
for  you  so  often  in  the  long  dark  night,  and  blessed  you  so 
often  in  the  morning  from  the  altar  that  now  smoulders 
within  these  blackened  walls,  —  in  the  presence  of  that 
beggared  outcast,  your  own  Sig < garth  aroon,  and  in  the 
name  of  a  just  God,  I  call  on  you  to  swear  now,  before 
heaven,  that  from  this  moment  you  will  never  cease  to 
prepare  for  the  day  of  retribution,  when  your  country 
shall  call  on  you  to  rise  in  your  gathered  strength,  and 
scourge  the  Saxon  oppresrors  from  the  soil  that  bore  ye." 

"We  swear!  we  swear!"  vociferated  the  multitude,  in 
one  loud  burst,  as  if  they  had  been  painfully  awaiting  the 
conclusion  of  the  sentence. 

"  As  for  me,"  continued  O'Brien,  "  I  have  but  this  little 
duty  to  myself  left."  And  taking  his  commission  from  his 


330  SHANDY    M'GUIRE,    OR 

breast-pocket,  he  held  it  up  for  a  moment.  "This,"  lie 
cried,  "  is  my  commission  —  it  has  hitherto  given  me  the 
rank  and  the  pay  of  a  captain  in  the  British  army ;  it  shall 
do  so  no  longer.  Behold !  it  is  my  first  sacrifice  to  lib 
erty!"  Ami  so  saying,  he  tiling  the  document  amid  the 
crackling  flames. 

"Hurrah!  hurrah! — God  prosper  the  act!"  shouted 
the  crowd. 

"And  this  is  my  second,"  he  resumed,  taking  the  glitter 
ing  sword  in  both  hands,  and  smashing  it  in  pieces  across 
his  knee. 

"  There,  Saxon,"  he  added  ;  "  up  —  up  from  the  dust, 
and  take  that  hilt  with  you  ;  short  blades  suit  best  the 
hand  of  the  assassin."  And  turning  away,  he  escorted 
Ellen  and  Father  Dornnick  from  the  place. 

Cantwell  rose  up,  his  face  black  with  rage  and  suffoca 
tion,  and  called  for  his  horse. 

"Not  yet  —  not  yet,"  said  Shandy;  "we  can't  well  do 
without  ye  for  a  minit  or  two.  Here,  boys,  two  iv  ye 
hould  him  there  by  the  collar  av  the  coat,  while  I  read  this 
paper.  And  you,  colonel,  listen  to  your  ould  friend,  Neal- 
a-Crawpshy  —  he'll  not  keep  ye  long.  Goin'  off  are  ye  ? 
Oh!  begorra,  ye  must  stay,  colonel  dear"  (and  catching 
at  the  reins,  he  led  the  horse  back  till  he  brought  Land 
lord  and  Agent  face  to  face).  "Ye  must  stay,  av  it  was 
only  to  afford  iz  the  light  i'  yer  countenance  to  read  this 
receipt,  now  that  the  fire  is  burnt  out.  Listen,  now,  and 
don't  stir,  or  you  might  tempt  me  to  sin. 

"That  pleasant-luckin'  gentleman  there,"  said  he,  mo 
tioning  with  his  thumb  in  comic  fashion  to  Cantwell,  who 
stood  stock  still,  his  head  bent  down,  and  his  collar  grasped 
on  either  side  by  brawny  hands,  "  that  gentleman  once 
tuck  it  in  head,  with  all  the  rest  av  his  villanies,  to  corrupt 
a  poor  girl  in  the  neighborhood  here  —  one  Mary  Curran 
—  I'll  warrint  ye  heerd  av  her.  Well,  it  failed  him,  colo 
nel  ;  when  lo-and-behold  ye !  he  thought  he'd  revenge  his 


THICKS  UPON   TRAVELLERS.  331 

spite,  an'  he  did  ;  for  he  slandherd  her  fair  name,  and  sent 
her  to  the  grave  av  a  broken  heart." 

"Niver  mind,"  said  a  voice  at  Shandy's  side,  which  he 
instantly  recognized,  —  "  niver  mind  ;  'am  sworn  by  the  five 
crosses  to  kill  him,  an'  I'll  do  it ;  faith  will  I  —  troth,  I'll 
murdher  him  yet." 

"  Well,  colonel,"  continued  our  hero,  "  one  wusn't 
enough  —  he  thought  he'd  try  his  hand  at  another;  an'  he 
cast  his  eye  on  Mary  Connor  av  Tubbernasiggart.  So  he 
sent  her  presents,  and  she  sent  them  back  again ;  then  he 
sent  a  go-between,  and  Mary  hunted  the  dogs  on  him. 
Guess  who  he  was,  colonel  ?  deil  a  less  than  yer  own  pious, 
God-fearing  Mr.  Goodsoul,  the  Bible  Reader.  This  gen 
tleman  here,  your  Agent,  being  an  Englishman,  valued 
Mary's  Irish  virtue  at  a  very  low  price,  far  lower  than  Neal 
Oawpshy  ever  valued  absolution  for  the  sin  av  readin'  the 
Bible.  Well,  what  'id  ye  have  of  it,  colonel,  but  as  the 
story  goes,  one  Shandy  M'Guire  came  to  hear  av  it  (a 
devil  that's  forever  playin'  tricks)  ;  and  didn't  he  meet  the 
augenaugh  there  on  the  last  fair-evenin',  and  tell  him  his 
name  was  Hudy  M'Gettigan,  a  frien'  av  Mary's,  and  that 
she  sent  him  with  a  letther  (are  ye  listenin',  Mr.  Archy?  — 
Cupid,  ye  remimber)  invitin'  him  to  meet  her  at  the  mill 
at  ten  o'clock  that  night,  set  in  case  he'd  give  a  clear  resate 
to  her  father  for  the  arrears  he  threatened  to  put  him  out 
av  his  houldin'  for?  When  he  read  the  letther,  Shandy 
handed  him  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  he  wrote  a  clear  re- 
sate.  Here  it  is,  colonel  —  maybe  ye'd  know  the  hand- 
writin'." 

The  colonel  examined  the  writing. 

"How  is  this,  Mr.  Cantwell?"  he  inquired;  "here  is 
your  receipt  for  arrears  of  rent,  which  you  told  me  so 
lately  as  this  morning  were  still  due!" 

"Ask  him  no  questions,  colonel,  and  he'll  tell  ye  no 
lies,"  interposed  Shandy.  "  Well,  he  reached  the  mill  at 
the  appointed  hour,  an'  instead  av  the  warm  reception  he 


332  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,   OR 

expected,  he  got  the  cowldest  lie  ever  met  with  in  his  life. 
You  remimber,  Mr.  Archy,  how  tinderly  she  threated  ye, 
an'  how  feared  she  was  ye'd  get  a  cough  from  the  damp 
ness  i'  yer  clothes  ?  But  the  funniest  part  i'  the  play  was, 
that  ye  still  thought  the  little  man  in  the  long  coat,  an' 
blin'  av  an  eye,  was  Hudy  M'Gettigan,  and  sent  him  to  jail 
for  Ribbonism,  when  he  wudn't  give  up  a  resate  he  never 
handled !  Now,  colonel,  'am  done ;  but  afore  I  go,  I'll 
leave  ye  an.  advice  —  since  ye  won't  take  a  lock  iv  my 
hair  —  an*  that  is,  niver  try  again  to  bribe  Catholics  to 
belie  their  religion,  as  you  did  Neal  Crawpshy ;  an'  as  the 
restorin'  av  ill-gotten  goods  is  one  i'  the  duties  i'  that  same 
religion,  I'll  return  this  guinea  to  its  rightful  owner  here, 
as  I'm  beginnin'  to  think  I  didn't  come  by  it  honestly, 
seem'  he  gave  it  to  me  in  payment  for  the  little  throuble  I 
tuck  in  bringin'  about  the  meetin'  at  the  mill.  Here,"  con  • 
eluded  Shandy,  "take  it  back  again  —  I  wondher  it  didn't 
burn  my  pocket;  an'  if  ever  ye  return  to  England,  which 
I  hope  in  God  you  will  and  soon,  tell  yer  countrymen  that 
poor,  an'  ragged,  an'  beggared  as  you  made  us,  we  wudn't 
barther  the  virtue  of  one  of  Erin's  lowly  but  lovely  daugh 
ters  for  all  the  wealth  of  Britain." 

As   Shandy   concluded,  he   retired    amidst  the   crowd, 
which  soon  separated  each  to  his  own  home. 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  833 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

THE  sun's  disk  was  half  hid  beneath  the  horizon.  His 
parting  beams,  as  if  bidding  the  earth  good  night,  kissed 
housetop  and  hill,  island  and  mountain.  The  ivy  on  the 
turrets  of  the  castle  glittered  brightly,  and  danced  to  the 
soft  voice  of  the  evening  breeze  as  it  sung  its  song  among 
the  leaves.  The  angler  on  the  river's  brink  beneath  the 
castle  walls  was  silently  tripping  his  gaudy  fly  over  the 
surface  of  the  stream,  tempting  the  sluggish  salmon  to  start 
from  the  deep  water  in  pursuit  of  the  dangerous  decoy. 
The  laborer  was  returning  from  the  fields  wearied  with 
his  long  day's  work,  carrying  his  spade  carelessly  on  his 
shoulder.  The  cows  were  lowing  at  the  barn-doors,  and 
the  milkmaids  singing  their  evening  carol  as  they  came 
forth  with  white  napkins  on  their  heads  and  white-hooped 
piggins  in  their  hands.  It  was  a  lovely  eve  —  the  bright 
blue  Italian  sky  above,  and  the  soft  emerald  green  below. 
It  was  an  evening  that  God  might  have  specially  chosen 
to  show  his  love  for  his  creatures,  in  thus  spreading  out 
before  them  the.  immensity  of  his  goodness.  Yet,  gentle 
reader,  under  that  blue  vault  of  heaven,  no  spot  of  earth 
was  more  afflicted  and  unhappy  than  your  own  green  isle ; 
it  wanted  that  which  lightens  the  heaviest  burden,  and 
assuages  the  keenest  pain  —  the  consciousness  of  freedom. 
Erin,  amid  all  her  beauties  and  her  smiles,  was  still  but  a 
land  of  slaves. 

Father  Donmick  was  kneeling  within  the  walls  of  the 


334  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,    OR 

castle,  on  the  steps  of  the  little  ruined  altar  where  his 
fathers  used  to  worship  long  ago,  and  where  he  loved  so 
much  to  recite  his  evening  office.  O'Brien  and  Ellen  but 
an  hour  before  had  knelt  there  also,  and  plighted  the  vows 
that  death  alone  could  cancel.  "  How  strange,"  said  the 
priest,  after  he  had  performed  the  ceremony,  "that  the  old 
church  was  burned  the  night  before  your  marriage-day ! 
It  would  seem  as  if  fate  ordained  you  should  be  wed  at 
the  altar  where  your  ancestors  gave  away  their  royal 
daughters." 

"And  the  ring  of  the  Baldearags,"  said  Ellen,  "the 
wedding-ring  of  the  O'Donnells —  how  opportunely  it  ap 
pears  ! " 

"  And  the  priest,  who  both  marries  and  gives  away  the 
bride,"  added  O'Brien. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  Father  Domnick,  glancing  significantly 
at  the  captain  ;  "he's  but  a  miserable  old  man,  whose  sor 
rows  this  union  has  somewhat  lightened.  God  bless  you, 
my  children  !  Good  by  for  a  while.  I  shall  follow  you  as 
soon  as  I  have  taken  a  last  farewell  of  this  old  ruin." 

We  have  already  said  Father  Domnick  was  kneeling  nt 
the  little  altar.  He  was  alone  —retired  from  the  hum  of 
busy  life  without.  Not  a  sound  came  to  disturb  his  devo 
tions,  if  we  except  the  occasional  scream  of  the  daws 
returning  home  after  their  day's  travel,  to  sleep  in  their 
usual  nestling-places  among  the  ruins,  or  of  the  weasel  as 
it  chased  the  intruder  from  its  burrow.  The  priest  was  in 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  opposite  wall,  his  back  turned  to 
the  entrance  leading  to  the  altar ;  his  tall  form  was  bent 
over  the  beads  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  his  locks,  white  as 
driven  snow,  lay  scattered  on  his  shoulders  and  down  along 
his  cheeks.  He  was  interceding  with  a  merciful  God  for 
pity  on  a  suffering  people  whom  he  was  about  to  leave. 
He  had  been  thus  absorbed  in  prayer,  when  footsteps  were 
heard  approaching  the  entrance.  They  were  those  of  the 
Rev.  Baxter  Cantwell  and  Colonel  Templeton.  As  they 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  035 

issued  out  from  the  dark  passage,  they  paused  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  the  colonel  pointed  to  the  supplicant  in  the 
distance. 

Draw  near,  ye  enemies  of  his  country !  approach,  ye  de- 
spoilers  of  God's  house,  and  behold  the  poor  priest  whom 
you  have  driven  last  night  from  home  and  altar,  praying 
in  the  desolate  sanctuary  of  his  sires!  Come  nearer  — 
look  at  that  threadbare  cassock,  and  say,  is  this  the  man 
you  have  charged  with  gathering  gold  in  the  confessional  ? 
Come  nearer  still  —  but  tread  lightly  —  lightly,  for  the  dead 
beneath  your  feet  may  heave  you  convulsively  from  their 
consecrated  graves ;  come  and  listen,  in  the  dead  silence 
that  prevails,  to  the  old  man  with  the  white  locks:  he-  is 
praying,  like  his  divine  Master,  for  mercy  on  his  enemies 
and  pity  for  his  friends.  He  sees,  he  speaks  to  no  one  but 
God  ;  the  world  is  dead  to  him  now,  and  he  to  the  world. 
He  is  alone  in  the  flesh  and  in  the  spirit.  Behold  him 
there,  and  answer,  is  he  the  "  hypocrite  "  you  proclaimed 
him? 

As  the  footsteps  drew  nearer,  Father  Domnick  heard 
them,  and,  rising  from  his  knees,  he  saluted  the  strangers. 
Uncovered  and  erect  the  old  man  stood,  his  tall  form  yet 
unbent  by  the  weight  of  eighty  years,  and  his  eye,  bright 
still  as  in  his  boyhood,  fixed  steadily  on  the  intruders. 

"  How  came  you,  priest,  within  these  walls?  "  demanded 
Colonel  Templeton.  "  Know  you  not,  sir,  I  have  already 
forbid  you  coming  here  to  practise  this  mummery  of  beads 
and  breviary  ?  " 

"I  came  here  to  pray  in  silence  and  alone,"  he  replied. 
"  I  have  not  injured  these  walls." 

"Injured,  sir!  you  have  practised  superstitious  and 
idolatrous  worship  here,  which  is  an  abomination  in  God's 
sight  and  an  offence  to  me." 

The  old  man  retreated  a  step,  and  crossed  his  arms  on 
his  breast. 

"What  you  call  superstition,  Colonel   Templeton,"  he 


336  SHANDY  M'GUIKE,    OR 

said,  with  some  severity  in  the  tone,  "  was  practised  at  this 
altar  for  centuries  before  the  sanguinary  revolution  of 
Cromwell  gave  you  predatory  right  to  place  a  foot  in 
this  hall." 

"  Predatory  right !  what  mean  you,  priest  ?  " 

"  The  right  the  master  gives  his  ban-dog  to  the  flesh  and 
blood  of  his  victim." 

"  Ha ! " 

"  Seest  thou  this  altar  ?  —  look  here  —  the  blood  of  Owen 
Roe  the  friar  is  red  upon  it  still.  Your  ancestors  slew  him 
here  while  offering  the  holy  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  his 
people.  That  blood  is  your  only  title-deed  to  this  castle." 

"  Rebellious  scoundrel ! "  vociferated  the  colonel,  in  a 
tone  of  undisguised  passion ;  "  dare  you  utter  such  words 
in  my  presence  ?  " 

"  Dare  !  "  repeated  the  priest,  smiling  at  the  idea. 

"  What,  mock  me,  sir !  Am  I  not  rightful  lord  of  the 
soil  ?  "  he  again  demanded. 

"  Your  rights  of  despoiler  and  robber  I  recognize  —  no 
other,"  responded  the  priest. 

"  Has  not  the  crown  guaranteed  these  rights,  and  will 
you  not  respect  its  power?" 

"  Its  power!  not  I,  not  I,"  replied  the  old  man;  "I  owe 
his  majesty  of  these  realms  no  obedience." 

"  Treason  ! "  shouted  the  parson. 

"  Have  you  not  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
crown  of  England  before  your  ordination  ?  —  perhaps  you 
got  absolved  from  it?" 

"  I  could  never  brook  the  insult  offered  by  such  an  oath. 
In  Salamanca,  where  the  bones  of  my  grandfather  rest,  and 
before  the  altar  where  they  lay  enshrined,  I  pledged  my 
allegiance  to  the  crown  of  Spain,  and  ere  I  left  the  sacred 
spot,  I  made  a  vow  that  if  God  gave  me  length  of  days,  I 
would  revisit  this  land,  and  endeavor,  to  the  extent  of  my 
poor  abilities,  to  awaken  in  the  hearts  of  its  people  a  spirit 
of  resistance  to  the  tyranny  of  England." 


THICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  337 

"  Have  you  the  boldness,  sir,  thus  openly  to  express 
such  rebellious  sentiments?" 

"  Rebellion  presupposes  allegiance,  and  I  tell  you  again, 
sir,  I  owe  no  allegiance  to  George  of  England." 

"  You  preach  sedition,  sir,  and  yet  you  boast  yourself  a 
priest  and  a  minister  of  peace." 

"  True  ;  I  am  a  priest  by  my  calling,  but  I  am  an  Irish 
man  by  birth.  As  a  priest,  I  have,  I  trust  in  God,  dis 
charged  my  duty  faithfully  to  the  people  whose  spiritual 
interests  I  was  appointed  to  guard ;  as  an  Irishman  born 
(had  I  even  plighted  my  allegiance  to  the  English  crown), 
I  have  my  civil  rights  like  other  men  to  protect,  and  which 
no  relation  between  monarch  and  subject  can  weaken  or 
annul.  I  am  not  to  live  the  life  of  a  slave,  because  I  live 
by  the  altar.  lean  never  be  taught  to  believe,  sir,  that 
because  I  preach  charity  and  forbearance  to  all  men,  I  am 
to  permit  you  to  rob  me  of  my  daily  food  without  resist 
ance  ;  or  that  if  it  please  you  to  strip  me  of  my  coat,  I 
am  to  hold  out  my  arms  that  you  may  the  more  readily 
take  it  off.  No,  sir ;  the  Catholic  priest  is  not  the  poltroon 
to  lie  quietly  at  your  feet,  because  you  flung  him  there.  If 
hitherto  he  has  borne  with  persecution  unresistingly,  it 
was  for  peace'  sake  —  because,  incapable  as  he  was  of  re 
sistance,  peace  was  a  duty ;  but  when  the  time  arrives  — 
and  it  will  soon  come  — that  this  nation,  in  the  spirit  and 
strength  it  shall  have  husbanded  for  the  struggle,  shall 
meet  her  enemies  in  the  field,  to  die  martyrs  or  live  free 
men,  then  beware  of  the  priest ;  for  when  that  hour  comes 
peace  will  be  a  crime  and  resistance  a  duty." 

"  Peace  a  crime  ! "  ejaculated  the  colonel ;  "  and  this 
from  you ! " 

"  Yes,  from  me,"  repeated  the  priest ;  "  and  I  hesitate 
not  to  tell  you,  Colonel  Templeton,  that,  if  the  Irish  peo 
ple  were  prepared  for  a  revolution  to-morrow,  I  would,  old 
as  I  am  —  and  this  head  is  white  with  the  snows  of  eighty 
winters  —  I  would  be  found  amongst  the  foremost  in  the 
22 


338  SHANDY  M'GUIRE,   OB 

fray,  not  to  fight,  mayhap  —  for  this  arm  is  somewhat  pal 
sied  from  age  —  but  to  encourage  my  brave  countrymen 
while  speech  was  left  me,  to  drive  you  and  all  your  Saxon 
breed  from  their  native  soil.  Yes,  sir,  that  hour  will  surely 
come,  when  the  men  of  this  land  shall  be  no  longer  seen 
to  doff  hat  or  bow  knee  to  the  sassenach  lord.  A  day  will 
come  when  the  voice  of  wrath  and  vengeance  shall  ring 
the  cry  of  retribution  in  your  ears,  —  when  strong  arms 
shall  hurl  you  from  your  judgment-seats  where  you  now 
issue  your  fiats  of  extermination  against  a  defenceless  peo 
ple,  and  the  very  women,  with  brooms  in  their  hands, 
will  scourge  you  like  spaniels  from  the  land  you  plun 
dered." 

"  Insolent  villain  ! "  cried  the  colonel,  hoarse  with  rage, 
and  stepping  towards  the  priest  in  a  threatening  attitude ; 
"  dare  you  thus  —  " 

"  Back,  sir !  back !  "  interrupted  Father  Domnick,  mo 
tioning  with  his  hand  as  a  king  would  to  his  slave ;  "back, 
strangers !  you  have  no  business  here  ;  this  holy  shrine  is 
mine,  alas!  my  only  heritage — the  last  memorial  of  a 
fallen  race  and  a  persecuted  priesthood.  Back ! "  repeated 
the  old  man,  his  voice  rising,  and  his  eye  lighting  up  with 
the  fire  of  his*  young  days  as  he  spoke  ;  "  place  not  your 
sacrilegious  feet  on  this  consecrated  earth.  Go  back  to 
England  —  to  the  sumptuous  edifices  you  erected  but  a 
few  years  ago  —  go,  and  worship  there,  where  men  turn 
their  backs  on  their  naked  altars ;  go,  and  enjoy  the  cold 
and  dreamy  philosophy  you  call  religion.  And  when  you 
address  your  countrymen  in  Exeter  Hall,  tell  them  of  the 
Catholic  priests  of  Ireland,  how  you  failed  in  your  efforts 
to  pervert  them.  Tell  them  how  you  offered  bribes,  and 
they  smiled  at  you ;  how  you  flattered  them,  and  they 
laughed  at  you  ;  how  you  scourged  them  through  the  pub 
lic  streets  as  malefactors,  and  they  bore  it  with  patience 
and  resignation  like  their  Saviour!  Go  back,  strangers, 
and  tell  your  countrymen,  the  enemies  of  my  creed  and 


TKICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  339 

my  race,  that  you  saw  an  old  priest  whom  you  burned  out 
of  house  and  home,  whom  you  robbed  of  all  but  his  beads 
and  breviary,  —  you  saw  him  poor  and  penniless  at  a  dilap 
idated  altar,  and  he  told  you  —  ay,  and  called  God  to  wit 
ness,"  said  Father  Domnick,  raising  his  hand  to  heaven,  — 
"  he  would  rather  be  the  beggared  worshipper  you  saw  him 
before  this  ruined  shrine,  than  live  in  wealth  and  power 
a  renegade  to  the  faith  his  fathers  bequeathed  him  !  " 

The  listeners  stood  in  silent  surprise  at  the  native  maj 
esty  of  the  old  man  as  he  spoke,  and  the  bold,  contemptu 
ous  language  he  uttered;  and  ere  they  could  summon 
speech  in  reply,  he  had  taken  up  his  breviary  and  passed 
down  the  hall  in  his  exit  from  the  castle.  When  he 
reached  the  entrance,  he  turned  round  for  an  instant,  and 
gazed  on  the  dark  walls :  it  was  his  last  look  at  the  vener 
able  ruin  —  in  another  instant  he  was  gone. 


This  little  story,  gentle  reader,  nears  its  end.  Would 
it  were  worthier  your  perusal ;  but  it  cannot  be  mended 
now. 

Early  on  the  morning  after  Ellen's  marriage,  before  the 
sun  was  up,  a  boat  was  observed  lying,  with  her  sails 
hoisted,  under  the  walls  of  the  Abbey  of  Donegal,  and  a 
little  party,  consisting  of  two  men  and  a  female,  walking 
towards  it.  As  the  party  approached  the  shore,  a  voice 
from  the  abbey  cried  to  them  to  stop,  and  presently  an  old 
woman  made  her  appearance,  clapping  her  hands  and  wail 
ing  piteously. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  O'Brien,  for  it  was  the 
captain  conducting  Ellen  and  Father  Domnick  to  the 
boat.  "What's  the  matter,  woman?  Ha,  ]STancy  Kelly! 
why,  Nancy,  who  would  have  thought  of  meeting  you 
here?" 

"  Oh,  captain,  dear  asthore,  Miss  Ellen  ahasky,  that  ust 


340  SHANDY   M'GUIRE,   OB 

to  be  his  own  Idnna  bought !  Och,  och  !  poor  fella,  he'll 
niver  spake  them  kine  words  again ! "  And  the  poor  crea 
ture  cried  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Nancy,"  said  Ellen,  kindly  taking  her  hand,  "  what 
means  this  grief?  —  tell  me,  has  anything  happened  to 
poor  Dick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ellen,  ahasky  bought,  he's  murdhered  —  he's 
lyin'  dead  there  above,  in  the  ould  abbey." 

"Dead!" 

"  Ay,  a  cowld  corpse,  dear,  on  Mary  Gurran's  grave,  an' 
Mr.  Archy  Cantwell  dead  beside  him." 

"  Father  of  heaven  !  "  exclaimed  Ellen ;  "  Dick  has  ful 
filled  his  dreadful  promise,  and  God  has  avenged  the  inno 
cent  blood  by  the  hands  of  an  idiot.  Little  did  I  think, 
Roderick,  that  poor  Dick  would  remember  his  vow." 

"  Father  Domnick  dear,  our  own  Siggarth  aroon? 
sobbed  the  affectionate  old  creature ;  "  I  was  tould  last 
night  ye  wor  goin'  to  lave  iz  —  goin'  away  niver^to  see  us 
more.  But  shure  ye'll  come  back  with  me  now,  an'  bury 
poor  Dick?" 

"  Willingly,"  replied  the  priest,  "  w-ere  it  miles  to  his 
grave." 

O'Brien,  beckoning  to  the  boatmen  to  follow  him,  led 
the  way  to  the  abbey,  and  there  was  seen  the  Omedaun 
stretched  across  Mary  Cumin's  green  grave,  a  poniard 
fixed  in  his  left  breast,  and  his  hand  twisted  in  Cantwell's 
cravat. 

"  Many's  the  dark  cowld  night,  my  poor  fella,"  sobbed 
Nancy,  "  ye  sat  there  watching  Mary's  body,  an'  no  one 
near  ye  to  keep  ye  company.  Now,  Dick,  asthore,  ye'l) 
soon  be  nearer  to  her  than  iver." 

The  priest  directed  the  boatmen  to  open  the  grave  the 
simpleton  loved  and  guarded  so  well ;  and  when  the  work 
was  finished,  the  Omedaun's  body  was  let  down  to  rest  on 
Mary's  coffin,  there  to  remain  exposed  till  the  coroner's 
jury  should  give  its  verdict.  Father  Domnick  read  the 


TRICKS   UPON   TRAVELLERS.  341 

funeral  service  over  his  remains,  and  then  turning  to  old 
Nancy,  gave  her  his  hand  and  his  blessing. 

In  a  few  minutes  after,  the  little  boat  was  seen  scudding 
before  the  breeze,  and  a  man  on  the  shore  waving  his  hat  in 
adieu  to  the  party.  While  this  man  remained  uncovered, 
it  Avas  impossible  to  recognize  him  in  the  distance ;  but 
when  he  turned  from  the  shore  and  put  his  broad-brimmed 
hat  on  his  head,  and  his  hands  in  his  long-skirted  coat 
pockets,  the  very  children  of  the  village  would  hail  him  as 
«  Shandy  M'Guire." 

Of  the  other  personages  introduced  to  the  reader  in 
these  pages,  we  have  learned  but  little  of  their  subsequent 
history.  Dumpy  Dowser,  we  have  been  informed  (but 
merely  on  hearsay),  died  a  few  years  after  in  Bristol,  fight 
ing  for  the  loyal  cause,  or,  as  another  report  goes,  by  fall 
ing  into  a  cellar  on  his  retreat  from  the  field  of  battle. 

Doogan  was  never  seen  after,  living  or  dead,  and  to  this 
hour  his  fate  is  involved  in  impenetrable  mystery. 

In  the  year  1842,  the  writer  of  this  story,  having  certain 
inquiries  to  make  relative  to  the  old  feudal  castles  of  the 
O'Donnells,  in  the  counties  of  Tyrone  and  Donegal,  was 
referred  to  the  Rev.  E.  M.,  the  successor  of  Father  Dom- 
nick,  whom  he  found,  after  a  long  search  among  the 
mountains,  comfortably  seated  at  a  snug  fire,  in  the  neat 
little  homestead  of  Frank  Devlin.  Mary  Connor  was 
spinning  at  her  wheel,  blithe  and  merry,  as  he  entered. 
The  younger  children  were  playing  with  the  chain  and 
seals  of  Father  E.'s  watch,  the  elder  girls  arranging  the 
delph  on  the  dresser,  and  Frank  himself  shaking  sand  on 
the  little  parlor  floor  —  for,  gentle  reader,  the  priest  was  to 
hold  a  station  at  Frank  Devlin's  the  next  morning. 


THE    END. 


